A Heart of Wisdom
by nonto94
Summary: A story of love lost, moving on, and discovering true love. It's been a long time since Sookie has been receptive to a relationship, and now she finds herself with two potential suitors. Will she follow her head, follow her heart, or turn them both away? Set in Louisiana in 1946. AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Is there anything else I can get you guys?" I ask the two gentlemen at the table, sliding their plates of fried chicken and country fried steak in front of them. Both of the men are out-of-towners and I don't recognize either of them.

"Naw, sweetheart, this'll do it for now," says the man with the mustache, leering at me from under the brim of his hat. My brow furrows, and I'm dying to frown, but a force a smile onto my face instead.

"Great! You two just let me know if there's anything else you need," I say, turning on my heel and heading back to the bar, refusing to turn back toward the gaze I can feel on my backside. I understand that ogling occasionally comes with the job, but it's something I've never been able to adjust to, even after four years as a waitress.

"You okay, Sookie?" Sam asks as I step behind the bar and place my tray on the pass-thru to the kitchen. I wipe my hands on the small apron tied around my waist and smooth the wrinkles in my skirt.

"Just fine, thanks," I say, my hands going to the small of my back to knead at the muscles. It seems like near the end of my shift my feet and my back always kill me. I've thought for years it would be a good idea to wear shoes without a heel to work to relieve some of the pressure on my back and the balls of the feet. Of course, wearing a flat soled shoe isn't appropriate for a waitress, and I've settled on being thankful to Sam for choosing uniform shoes with fairly low heels. I realize Sam's eyes on me and I drop my hands. His eyes shift back from the drink he's mixing.

"Guys over there not giving you trouble are they?" His gaze shifts to the table with the ogler and I'm not thrilled to discover Mustache's eyes are still on me.

"Not yet," I respond vaguely, lifting my eyebrows toward the men as Mustache leers again. I can see Sam turn toward me, alarm in his face, and shoot a smile in his direction as I pull my ponytail tight. His muscles are tense and I lay a cool hand on his arm. "Just relax, it will be fine. They're nothing I can't handle. And if they end up being a problem, that's what you're for." I pat his arm in reassurance before grabbing the plates of food that appear on the pass-thru and walking around the bar to the main dining room to deliver them.

Though Sam has always done a great job of looking out for all of his waitresses, it's never been a secret that he has taken a special interest in me. Sam and I have been friends since the day I came into Merlotte's looking for a job all those years ago. Bill had just left for the war and money was tight. Though I would have never have admitted to Bill, him leaving me alone was rough, and there was more than one night when I had to go without supper for lack of money. But there were jobs available with all of the men leaving to fight, or moving to the cities to work in the factories, and it wasn't long until I was out there with other capable women, looking to fill the available positions out of necessity more than patriotism.

I only knew Sam in passing the day I walked into his restaurant desperate for a job. I had no skills, no experience, and hadn't even been running my own household for long. But after a short discussion and a brief trial period, I was hired for good. I was determined not to let Sam down and spent every day working myself so hard I was ready to fall asleep on my feet by the end of my shifts. Of course, I discovered later that the exhaustion wasn't exclusively due to hard work, but at the time Sam was rather impressed with my efforts. As time passed and I adjust to the schedule, I found I enjoyed my job and discovered it was something I was good at doing. Still, I still dreamed every day of the day Bill would come home and I could leave Merlotte's and we could return to our normal lives. It was only one and a half months later that my dreams came down around me.

"Who ordered the meatloaf sandwich?" I ask the tired looking mother and her son at table six. Their table is not in my section, but I don't mind helping out when I can.

"I did!" says the little boy, bouncing up and down in his seat as I put the plate in front of him. I can see why his poor mother is tired and give her a knowing smile as I set the other plate on the table in front of her.

"What do you say, Tommy?" she prompts, even as his little hands lift the thick sandwich.

"Thank you!" he nearly yells, giving me a toothless grin, and I can't help but smile back.

"You are most welcome. You folks enjoy, and let Arlene know if there's anything else you need."

The bell above the front door tinkles and my eyes move automatically in that direction. I watch as a tall, blonde man with broad shoulders steps into the room, doffing his hat and rubbing the dust from his shoes on the mat. He has a no-nonsense look to him and a ponytail hanging down his back. Another customer I don't recognize. Bon Temps is a very small and out of the way town and most days I know every face that comes through that door. Today doesn't seem to be one of those days.

I make my way across the dining room, keeping a substantial distance from Mustache and friend, and greet the newcomer with a smile. "Hello, sir, welcome to Merlotte's. Just one today or is someone joining you?" His eyes drift down to meet mine and I'm struck by the intensity of his gaze. There is something enticing in that look I feel my smile increase naturally. I'm somewhat surprised when he smiles back.

"Actually, I'm hoping to see Sam Merlotte," he says, eyes leaving mine to scan the room. "Does he happen to be here today?"

"He's almost always here," I reply with a look over my shoulder toward the bar. Sam is looking back at me with a strange expression on his face and I decide it might not be a great idea to walk the stranger over without giving Sam a warning. "Why don't you have a seat at one of these tables and I'll let him know you'd like to see him. What was your name?"

"Eric Northman," replies the stranger, swinging his eyes back to mine. It's nearly a giddy feeling when our eyes meet, and the smile on my face widens further.

"Have a seat, Mr. Northman. Mr. Merlotte will be right out to greet you."

I watch Eric seat himself in the farthest corner of the room and I return to the bar. I slide in between two stools on the customer side of the counter in front of Sam. "A Mr. Eric Northman is here to see you," I tell him quietly, still confused by the odd expression on his face. I realize I'm still smiling like a school girl with a crush and purse my lips slightly in an attempt to tone it down. Sam relaxes visibly.

"Tell him I'll be right out," he says, returning a liquor bottle to it's place behind the bar and using a rag to wipe down the countertop. I frown at him for a moment before turning back to face the dining room. Frowning at Sam isn't going to help me figure out his expression any more easily, but somehow I get the impression he's disappointed. At what, I can't even begin to guess.

"Excuse me, miss," I hear from the table I've been pointedly avoiding, and I close my eyes for just a moment before turning in their direction and forcing a smile onto my face. I can feel it become more and more tense the closer I get to their table.

"How are you gentlemen doing?" I ask, stepping to the edge of the table with some reluctance. I can smell gin on Mustache's breath as he leans forward and turns his face toward me.

"Doing pretty good now that you're here," he says, reaching out with a finger as if stroke my arm. The smiles drop from my face and I take a step back. I force myself to be polite.

"Can I get you guys anything else? Maybe another drink or some dessert? We have the best peach pie in three counties."

"Who could think about peach pie with a sweet peach like you around?" he asks with a laugh, looking toward his buddy for affirmation. I can feel my eyebrows go up and am pleased to see that his friend looks mortified. Undeterred, Mustache turns back to face me. "Come on, sugar, come a little closer." I anticipate his movement and take another step back as raises his hand to grab God knows what. I'm not quite quick enough and he manages to snag the fabric of my skirt between thick fingers.

"Let me go," I demand through clenched teeth, illusion of politeness gone completely. I look over my shoulder toward the bar for Sam. He's nowhere in sight. Great. I feel a hand on my waist and swing my head around to find that Mustache has risen from his seat. Apparently he's decided I need a hug. Rage and indignation fly through me as he pulls me close, and I barely register the sound of a chair clattering to the ground nearby as I dig my nails into hairy wrists. Mustache screams like a scalded cat and releases me, snatching his wrists from my hands and holding them close to his chest. I take a step back and bump into a wall. I raise my eyes to meet Eric's.

"You drew blood!" Mustache cries suddenly, shooting me a look of disbelief and holding out one of his injured arms for me to see. Yes, sir, that I did. "Lordy, girlie, I just wanted to see you. I wasn't going to hurt you none."

I am intensely aware of Eric behind me and can feel his body tense. I feel exactly the same way.

"You gentlemen need to pay your bill and leave," I say quietly but firmly, surprised at how steady my voice sounds. Inside I feel like I'm full of moths and bumblebees. Mustache hesitates, unsure of whether or not he has to follow my orders. I am just a woman after all, and I can tell he's not too familiar with taking orders from women. On the other hand, I am the one who made him squeal like a piglet in public and I'm certain he's not too fond of that. I watch the indecision flit across his face for a moment before his friend pulls out his wallet.

"I'm truly sorry for my friend, ma'am," he says with a sheepish smile, tossing a few bills onto the table. "We're going now. Thank you for the meal." Mustache trails his friend out of the restaurant and manages to shoot me one more disbelieving look before disappearing through the door. Somewhat dazed, I stare after them. A hand on my shoulder jolts me back to the present and I scoop the money from the table before turning toward the cash register at the bar. My hands shake as I press the appropriate keys to send the drawer flying open with a ding.

"Are you okay?" Eric asks from the other side of the counter as I slide the money into the appropriate slots and close the drawer with a clang.

"Just fine," I say, smoothing my shaking hands down my skirt front and reaching automatically to tighten my ponytail. Eric's eyes narrow at me slightly and his hand shoots out to grasp mine in his. I'm startled at his sudden movement and attribute my pounding heart to that feeling.

"Blood," he says, and I can feel the confusion on my face. "On your hand." My confusion continues for a moment before he turns my hand, pressing the palm flat onto his and holding my fingers up for me to see. Sure enough, the whites of my nails are stained red and there's blood on my fingertips. "You don't want to get it in your hair." I slide my hand from his and feel my heart rate decrease substantially.

"Thanks," I say mildly, ignoring the flush I can feel staining my cheeks. "Would you excuse me while I clean up?" I barely wait for his nod of affirmation before walking through the door to the hall leading to the kitchen, toilets, and Sam's office. I swing into the restroom and lock the door behind me. I step up to the sink and turn the water on warm, bringing my hands closer to my face for further examination. I can feel my nose crinkle in disgust at the amount of Mustache staining my fingernails, but I can't suppress the tiny smile that follows. I pick up the soap and start to scrub, lifting my fingers from the water every few seconds to check my progress. After what seems like ages, I finally deem my hands Mustache free and turn off the tap. There is a rap on the door as I reach for the towel.

"Just a minute," I call drying my hands briskly and double checking for blood. There's not a speck of red in sight. The knock comes again.

"Sookie, it's Sam. Are you okay?" I fold the towel over the rack and take a moment to straighten it before throwing open the door. I find myself face to face with a concerned looking Sam. "Eric told me what happened with that customer. I knew he was bad news. Are you okay? He didn't hurt you?" He takes my hands in his before I can speak and throws them wide, assessing gaze roaming my body. Since Sam's interest in my body isn't wholly professional, I step away from him after a short moment and he lets me drop my arms to my sides.

"Of course he didn't hurt me, I told you I could handle him, didn't I?" I ask with a smile. I'm not quite as confident in my skills as I let on, but Sam doesn't have to know that.

"You did," Sam admits, "but you shouldn't have had to. I should have been there. I want to take care of you." The emotion in his voice tells me he's talking about much more than the man in the restaurant and I give him a sad smile.

"I know you do, Sam. But sometimes I have to take care of myself."

"I understand, I do, but if Bill were here-"

"If Bill were here everything would be different," I interject, resisting the urge to lay a comforting hand on his arm, "But there's no saying it would be better."

"But Sookie-"

"Hush. We've talked about this before and don't need to go over it again. You are a wonderful friend to me but that's where your responsibility ends."

"But it doesn't have to. If you'd only let me, I could make things easier."

"There's much more to it, you know that. And you already make my life easier, more than you know." Giving into my instinct, I step forward and place the tiniest of kisses on his cheek. I wipe away the trace of lipstick with my thumb before stepping back and giving him a smile. "Now if you don't mind, I think I'll be heading home. It's been a rough day and my shift ended a few minutes ago." He gives me a nod but I can see the storm of emotion in his eyes. My maternal side urges me to take him into my arms, but my brain tells me that would be a bad idea. I force myself to walk through the back door without a backward glance.

The day is hot and bright and I start to sweat the instant I step into the sun. I cross the dirt area in front of Sam's trailer and climb into the truck I inherited from Bill. It is a '37 Ford and not quite my style, but it gets me from point A to point B and it's more than I can afford on my own. I push the button to engage the ignition and drive carefully around the building before pulling onto the road and pointing my car toward home. As I drive, my thoughts return to Sam. He has been a valuable friend to me since the day I received the news about Bill.

It was a Wednesday, I remember, and quite warm outside. It was nearly time for the dinner rush when the officers found me in the Merlotte's. I remember I was laughing at a long forgotten joke Arlene told me when they walked through door. One glimpse at their uniforms and I knew they were there for me. Individually, the words they spoke were innocuous. The killed of line in husband your duty was. Together in the proper order, they were devastating. Your husband was killed in the line of duty.

Turning onto Hummingbird Road, I banish the thoughts of that terrible day from my mind. It won't do to dwell on horrible things so close to home. I force my mind back to Sam.

After Bill died, Sam was everywhere. He was my boss, so I saw him at work, but it seemed like he managed to show up anywhere I went, increasingly so as time went on. At first I didn't mind it. Sam was with me when I found out about Bill and it seemed natural to keep him around for comfort. But as time moved on and I climbed from my pit of despair, I realized I wasn't being fair to Sam. I began to realize that Sam was interested in me as a man is interested in a woman. I was interested in him only for friendship. And even if I was interested in Sam as a man, I would think twice before jumping in a relationship with him. He is such a kind person, and I wouldn't be able to get past the idea that maybe I was taking advantage of his kindness for Halleigh.

I turn from Hummingbird Road and bounce up the deeply rutted driveway, glad the Ford is a durable vehicle. After a long moment of driving through the woods, the house becomes visible and I pull into the clearing. I skirt around the chickens in the yard as I pull around back.

"Momma!" cries a small voice as I stop the car in the clearing and pull the brake. I slide from the seat and close the door behind me, scanning the yard for the owner for the voice. Suddenly, the screen door on the porch flies open and a brown-headed little bullet flies across the yard toward me. My Halleigh. Her short legs pump like mad as she closes the distance between us and I can see her dark eyes sparkling in the sunlight from where I stand. She is the joy of my life and at moments like this I think I might be the joy of hers.

"Halleigh baby, I missed you," I say, scooping her from the ground and hugging her close. She nuzzles into my neck for lovely moment, mumbling that she missed me too before wriggling to be free. It seems like she's never content to stay cuddled for long. I set her down on her feet and take her hand, turning to walk toward the old farmhouse. "How was your day? Did you and Gran have fun?"

"Yes," she proclaims as we climb the steps, "even though she made me take a nap."

I suppress a smile and nod seriously down at her. Naps for little girls are almost a fate worse than death as far as Halleigh is concerned. "Well I'm sorry to hear that you were made to suffer so."

"I didn't like it. But Gran said that only way to grow up and be big like her is to take naps. Gran loves naps, did you know?" I can't suppress my smile at her tone. Apparently naps are a fate worse than death for everyone.

"Yes, ma'am, I did know that. But why don't you tell me what did my favourite ladies did today beside have naps?"

"We fed the chickens and plucked the weeds, and Gran showed me how to make paper dollies by clipping the pictures out of the catalog. It was neat, Momma, can I show you?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Run and get the dollies while I say hi to Gran." Her warm little hand slides from mine and she's off like a shot, bare feet thundering through the kitchen and down the hall on her mission. I walk into the kitchen at a more sedate pace and smile at the small woman standing over the hot stove.

"Hello, Gran," I greet the woman, placing a kiss on her wrinkled cheek and pulling her close in a one armed hug. Her soft hand comes up to pat my arm. "Anything I can help with?"

"Nothing at all," she says with a wave of her hand, shooing me away like a fly. "Just get off your feet and relax for a minute. Dinner will be done in a jiffy and I know you're tired."

"Of course I'm not tired." A lie. "I'd love to help." The truth.

Small feet pound down the staircase and Gran looks over at me with a smile. "Don't be silly. Sit down and play dolls with your daughter. You've been on your feet all day." Halleigh bursts from the hall into the kitchen, small hands overflowing with cutouts, her energy engulfing the room. I can't help but smile at her exuberance.

"Got them, Momma," she says, dumping the lot in a pile on the table.

"Alright, little miss," I say, giving Gran a stern look and sliding into the closest chair. I pull Halleigh into my lap. "Show me what you've got."

As Halleigh chats away and sorts through the cut out people, clothing, and furniture, arranging them in an order known only to her, I let my eyes drift to Gran. She's stirring a pot on the stove with a self-satisfied smirk on her face and I can feel my lips quirk into a similar expression. Somehow that woman always manages to get her way. It's been that way my entire life, and especially so since Bill died.

After Bill died my heart was shattered and every movement, every breath felt hard won. But I learned long ago that life doesn't stop when someone dies, and nothing could be different with the loss of Bill. The day I heard the news, I crumbled. Sam drove me home, to the house Bill and I shared, and I never made it past the front door. I sat on the porch for the duration of the night, lamenting lost dreams and wondering how I could survive with a hole through my heart. But the morning dawned bright, and I hadn't died yet, and picked myself up from the porch and pressed on. Bill mortgaged the house and I needed to eat, and I couldn't afford to stay home and wallow.

Gran kept her distance those first few weeks, having lost a husband of her own some years back. She was there when I needed her but realized I needed to work through the pain myself. I grew more numb and the pain decreased as time passed by. Still, I couldn't fathom that the hole inside of me would ever close. Until I found out about Halleigh.

The moment I announced my pregnancy to Gran with tears on my cheeks and joy in my heart, Gran decided my place was with her in her home. All through my pregnancy she tried to convince me that life would be so much easier if I would only move back in with her. She could cook, she said, and help with the cleaning. I didn't have to stand on my feet all day and work at home too. But I wouldn't move in no matter how much she begged. It felt like giving up. It felt like turning my back on Bill.

Halleigh was born in the bed Bill and I had shared, with a midwife from town attending. She looked like her Daddy from the second she was born, dark hair and dark eyes, with a nose and ears that I swear were his in miniature. It was then that I realized I wasn't forsaking Bill by leaving our home and making my life easier. He loved me, and would have handed me the world if I'd asked. It would hurt him to see me disengage and drift away just to hold on to things to keep him close. It was that day I realized I didn't need things. I would always have his memory. I would always have his daughter.

Halleigh and I moved in with Gran one month later.

"Alright, Halleigh, dollies off the table," Gran says, lifting a roast from the oven. I snap to attention. I didn't realize I'd been drifting quite so much and I give Halleigh a little boost off my lap.

"But I was just about ready to show Momma the best one," she whines with a pout giving Gran a grouchy look that I recognize as her father's. I can't stop the laughter that escapes my lips.

"The dollies will be here when dinner is over," I reminder her gently, disturbing the order and scooping them into a pile. "Put them away please." She gives me a pout but lifts them from the table obediently and trudges from the room. It seems like the only time I see that girl walk is when it's toward something she doesn't want to do.

I rise from the table to retrieve the green beans and Gran sets the roast in the center. Sweet tea is poured, plates are set out, and I'm just settling back into my seat when Halleigh skips back into the room, smile on her face. I can see the head of one paper man sticking from the pocket of her dress but leave it be. If one paper person is what it takes to get me a smile, I'm all for it.

"Whose turn is it to say grace?" Gran asks, finally sitting down in her chair. Though she has many years on me, it sometimes seems like Gran could outwork me with all her energy. Of course, she does get naps.

"Mine," pipes Halleigh as if calling dibs, before reaching out small arms to join hands with Gran and me. I close my eyes and bow my head as I listen for her voice.

"Thank you God for this food we are about to receive," she begins, and I smile. "Thank you for my day with Gran even though I had to take a nap. Thank you for teaching Gran how to cut paper dollies so she could teach me. Thank you for Momma, and Gran, and all of the chickens, and for the dirt. Thank you for making my Momma with a pretty smile. Amen."

Pretty or no, that smile is on my face as I add my own prayer. "Thank you for my wonderful daughter. Thank you for my wonderful life."

I echo her amen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A squeal of joy reaches me in the darkness and a smile curls my lips. The mattress at my feet quivers under tiny giggles.

"What's going on down there?" I ask with a gentle kick of my feet, eyes still closed against the sunlight. The mattress shifts as a small body stretches out next to me. She lays her head next to mine on the pillow.

"Momma, are you awake?" Halleigh asks in a loud whisper, and I can smell the maple syrup on her breath.

"I don't know baby, do I look awake?" I whisper back. She studies me in silence for a moment.

"Your eyes aren't open," she says finally.

"No? Well then maybe I'm still asleep." I give a fake little snore and she erupts in peals of giggles. Her laughter is intoxicating and I can't stop a giggle of my own.

"Sleepings don't laugh," she declares suddenly, giving my nose a little poke with her finger. I open my blue eyes to look into her brown ones. The light from the window forms a halo around her head and I can't help but think she looks angelic.

"Alright, you caught me," I say, pulling her close and laying a kiss on her forehead. "I'm awake."

"I knew it," she says with a triumphant smile, before sliding from my embrace and jumping off the bed. I barely catch a glimpse of the blue of her dress as she dashes from the room at top speed.

I sit up in the bed and throw my legs over the side lifting up the bottom of my long nightgown to let the fresh air hit my legs. Even this early in the morning with the window open and the fan blowing it's scorching hot. I stand from the bed to escape the heat of the blankets and pull the covers up over the pillows. I'm just smoothing the wrinkles from the bedspread when the sound of racing feet meets my ears. The sound stops near my door and I can see a little face peeking around the frame at me. It disappears from view when she sees I'm looking.

"I see you," I say in a singsong voice, tiptoeing on bare feet across the wooden floor toward the door. I flatten my body against the wall and crane my neck to see through the opening. I can barely make out her little brown head from where I stand but her snickers give away her position.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask suddenly, jumping through the doorway and sending her running down the hall in a fit of giggles. I give chase and catch up to her short-legged stride in just seconds, bending over her to tickle her belly with gentle fingers.

"Momma, stop," she squeals through her giggles, wriggling half in excitement and half in her desire to be free.

"What?" I say innocently. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything."

"Momma, stop!" she squeals again.

"Alright," I relent, squatting to her level and tugging on the hem of her dress to straighten it, "but only if you help me pick out something pretty to wear today. You always pick out the best things." Her eyes light up under the praise.

"Okay" she agrees with a smile, and slides her hand into mine. We walk back to my room and she climbs onto the bed while I throw the closet door open wide for her to view my wardrobe. I don't have many clothes. Besides my work uniforms, most of my things are mended and worn, but Halleigh takes a special pleasure in dressing me on occasion. And on occasion I am more than happy to let her.

Her brow furrows and lips purse as she studies the closet, as if she hasn't seen all of my dresses a million times before. I stand by as patiently as I can while she considers her choices, and busy myself with the hairbrush while I wait. The style of the day is short hair, but I haven't been able to bring myself to trim my own long tresses.

"Wear the blue one so we match," she says finally, hopping off the bed and tugging it down from the hanger. I manage to grab it before it hits the floor.

"Perfect choice," I declare, inspecting it briefly and laying it neatly on the bed. "Thank you very much for your help. You are the very best picker. Now Momma's got to get ready. Why don't you run and find Gran and see if there's anything else she's thought of that we need." With a little nod she skips out the door. Moments later I can hear her feet on the stairs.

I return my hairbrush to the top of the dresser where it belongs and slip from my nightgown, relishing the feeling of the circulating air on my bare flesh. I linger in front of the fan for a moment longer before stepping toward the dress so expertly selected. I am not surprised Halleigh chose the blue for me today. She loves when we match on Wednesdays.

Since Halleigh was born, Sam has been more than accommodating with my schedule with no prompting from me. He does his best to give me shifts early in the day so I can spend evenings at home, and gives me Wednesdays off to spend with Halleigh. Though why he chose Wednesdays, I'll never know. When Halleigh was young, she and Gran and I would spend Wednesdays at the grocery, picking flowers, or playing in the stream. But as time went by and Halleigh got older, Gran got older too. She loves her great-granddaughter but has found a peaceful day alone to be rejuvenating, and I don't hold that against her one bit.

I close the buttons on the dress with nimble fingers before sliding my feet into low wedge sandals. A glance in the mirror tells me I look appropriate and I grab my purse before leaving my room. After a quick stop in the bathroom downstairs, I find Gran and Halleigh on the front porch in matching wooden rockers. Gran's head is resting against the back of the chair, her eyes closed. Halleigh's feet are swinging well off the ground, in time to the song she's singing to herself.

"Alright, baby, are you ready?" I ask, stepping into the deep shade of the porch and out of the increasingly oppressive heat of the house.

"Yes," Halleigh says, sliding forward in the chair till her feet hit the ground and pushing herself upright. Her skirt rises appallingly high in her slide but she pulls it down without prompting.

"Have you finished your chores?"

"Uh . . . no." She looks devastated. There's been more than one Wednesday when I've made her go back and finish them. "Gran said she would help with the eggs."

"Oh she did, did she?" I ask eyeing Gran, who seems to be sleep smirking. "Did you make your bed, though?" She nods at me with big eyes. "Okay, we'll let Gran collect the eggs this once, but you need to do your own chores. You're big enough to help out and Gran has enough chores to do. Got it?" She nods again. I let myself soften. "Alright then, let's get going." Joy restored, Halleigh is off the porch at a run. I turn my eyes back to Gran.

"I don't know who you think you're fooling, Gran, but I know you're awake." Her eyes pop open and the sparkle in them is downright youthful.

"Just resting my eyes a bit," she says with a serene smile and a rock.

"Uh huh. Do you have the list?" She produces the grocery list from a pocket in her apron and lays it in my hand. "Thank you, ma'am." I lean over and lay a kiss on her worn cheek. She returns the kiss with lips that feel like finely wrinkled paper. I step off the porch.

"Oh, one more thing," I say, trying to slip it in as an afterthought. Like it's really going to catch her off guard. We've have had this discussion several times before. "You have to stop doing Halleigh's chores. You know very well you have enough to do and she has to learn responsibility sometime."

"You hush. You've got yourself a good girl. There's nothing wrong with spoiling her once in a while. And if I'm remembering right, there was another little girl some years back who loved when I helped with her chores. And she grew up to be a great woman." She is talking about me. Of course she is talking about me. But that doesn't change a thing. Still, this is a fight I'm not going to win. Not now, at least.

"Thank you Gran," I say, after moment, consciously keeping my voice gentle. I am grateful for her. "You are too good to us."

"Just the right amount of good, I'd say," she mumbles and closes her eyes again. I turn from the porch and walk around the house toward the car.

xxx

Three hours and eleven hard earned dollars later, Halleigh and I have fulfilled our list.

"Ready for some lunch?" I ask as I deposit her into the driver's side of the truck and climb in after her. She gives me a nod and lays her head against my arm. Halleigh may hate naps, but she's at an age where her body still demands one whether she likes it or not.

I push the button to start the car and we drive down the road in the direction of Merlotte's.

Since Halleigh and I have started spending Wednesdays by ourselves, Merlotte's has been an every week occurrence. Sam and Halleigh adore each other, and Sam is more than happy to watch her for twenty minutes while I visit the cemetery.

"Halleigh," I say gently, driving the car into the dirt lot and setting the brake. She managed to doze off my on arm during the short ride. "Baby, wake up." She stirs a bit but stays asleep. She and Gran must've really gotten an early start this morning.

Swinging the door open and turning in the seat, I manage to lift her from the bench next to me and hop from the truck. I stumble a bit on the step down but manage to keep my feet under me during the walk through the parking lot. The bell above the door tinkles and as I pull it open. The restaurant is rather empty with only three customers in sight, and I wave to Arlene as I walk back to Sam's office. I'm pleased to find he's sitting at his desk with the door open. His suit jacket dangles from the knob.

"Knock knock," I say, since the door is already open, and he looks up from his paperwork. The light in his eyes is unexpected, and I blink a hard blink before stepping into the room. "I hope you don't mind we're a little early?"

"Not at all," he says, rising from his desk to meet me in the middle of the office. "You tired her out, I see."

I laugh as I shift her weight into his arms. "I think that was Gran's doing. I swear, those two are up before the chickens most days."

"Well what's the fun in wasting the day away when you have all that energy?"

"I wouldn't know about that kind of energy," I say ruefully, walking toward the door as Sam lays Halleigh on her blanket on the floor. Thought she doesn't always nap here, he always has it ready just in case. "Thanks for watching her. I'll be back in twenty and I'll see if I can't rouse her for some lunch."

I head back through the dining room, giving Arlene another wave, and reach out to push open the door. But the door opens before I lay hand on it and in walks the blond man from yesterday. Northman, I believe. I can't recall his first name. Something with an E maybe? Elmer, Edwin, Earl? No, none of those sound right. Still, the smile graces my lips as I try to skirt around him.

"Hey, aren't you the waitress from yesterday?" he asks suddenly, removing his hat and laying a hand on my arm before I can step through the door. Of course he would stop me the one time today when I'm in a hurry.

"No, I wasn't your waitress yesterday," I say, intentionally misunderstanding and pulling my arm from his grasp.

"No you didn't wait on me," he says with a little shake of his head. "You were the one that threw that guy and his friend out, right? You're Sookie?" How in the world does he know my name? I wrack my brain for a moment before realizing the solution is stupidly simple - name tag.

"Yes, that's me," I admit, the smile on my face growing slightly tense. I step through the open door. "But I really have to go."

"You never came back," he says abruptly, and I stop with one foot out the door. What is he talking about? "You went to wash your hands and then you never came back."

"No," I say simply, "I didn't." I step out into the hot sun and let the door drift shut behind me. I climb into the Ford. Well that was a little weird.

The drive to the cemetery is relatively short and I'm walking between grave markers before I know it.

Bill has a marker here but he's not buried here. His plane was shot down over Italy and his body was never recovered. In the first days after his death, I was obsessed with thoughts of his body. If there was a body at all, why couldn't I have it here with me? Why did he have to be somewhere where I could never see him again and never say goodbye? Why couldn't he just get back in his body and start to live again? Then my thoughts turned dark. I spent a great deal of time wondering on the condition of his body and it's location. Were the arms that held me so gently during those first nights of our marriage hugging close soldiers in a grave of many? Did he separate from the plane when it fell from the sky or was he burned with the wreckage? Graphic scenarios consumed me for days until I couldn't deal with them anymore. I made the decision one horrible night to lock them away, and rarely have accessed them since.

I arrive at his headstone and kneel to the ground, removing the remainder of the flowers I left last week. I'm not sure why I come to the cemetery, knowing Bill isn't here. Somehow it just feels wrong not to come. It's not like I'd be leaving him alone if I didn't visit. His body is without me wherever it is no matter how frequently I come here. But somehow I feel like it's owed him.

Sometimes Halleigh comes here with me. She knows her Daddy is dead, but I don't think she understands what it means. Mostly I tell her that he's in Heaven. I think she gets Heaven on one level or another. I've told her stories about him, of course, and will continue to do so for years to come. I desperately want her to know the man she came from, the man I loved with all my heart. It's my greatest regret that Bill never met Halleigh and Halleigh will never know her father.

I set the flowers purchased from the grocer on the ground in front of the grave, standing them up on their pointy little stems. Bill always thought flowers were a little silly, but to me they are sentimental.

After a brief pat of the marker and a quick, silent prayer I head back through the maze of stones to the truck. I breathe a little easier once I clear the iron gates. I'm back to Merlotte's before I know it.

The bell tingles as I go through the door to the restaurant, and I notice that dining room is emptier than before. I beeline for Sam's office only to find the door closed. I press my ear to the wood, listening for voices, and am surprised to hear two. Unease ripples through me and I tap on the door quietly.

"Come in," I hear. I push open the door, eyes scanning the room for Halleigh. I'm relieved to find her on her blanket in the corner right where I left her. I knew she would be okay. Of course I can trust Sam. My eyes go to the owners of the voices.

Sam is sitting behind his desk looking rather unhappy. Across from him is Mr. Northman. Both sets of eyes are on me as I step into the office.

"Sorry for the interruption," I say, scooping Halleigh from the floor and laying her across my shoulder. She comes awake just a bit and lifts her head.

"Momma, can I see Mr. Sam now?" I smile at her question. She could have seen Mr. Sam for the last twenty minutes if she would have just woken up.

"In just a bit, baby. Mr. Sam is in a meeting." She wraps her arms around my neck and cuddles me tight, burying her face in my hair. "Excuse us, gentlemen." I leave the office, closing the door behind me gently, and walk with Halleigh into the main dining room.

She's most cuddly when she's sleepy and it takes minute to pry her little arms from around my neck long enough to settle her in the booth. Once she's seated, I run to the kitchen to put in our order. There's no use in letting a waitress take care of us. That would only mean a tip.

"Who was that man with Mr. Sam?" Halleigh asks when I return with a glass or milk for each of us and slide onto the booth seat next to her. Her face is creased from the blanket and I use my fingers to straighten her hair.

"I'm not sure. A friend of Mr. Sam's, I guess."

"He is tall."

"Mmhmm, yes he is."

"Is he taller than Daddy?" The question is unexpected and my eyes cut to her sharply. I'm glad to she's focused on her milk and didn't catch my reaction.

"Yes ma'am, he is. About this much taller, I think." I use my hand to estimate the difference. It gets harder to remember clearly every day, but I think I have it about right.

"Daddy was tall," she says, eyes turning to me finally. I give her a smile.

"He was indeed. Much taller than me or you."

"Maybe one day I can be tall too?" she asks hopefully.

"Drink your milk and eat your vegetables and you have a good chance," says a voice near our booth. My eyes rise to meet Mr. Northman's. Automatically I want to smile but I bite my lips between my teeth and look back to Halleigh instead. There's something about this man that's so appealing yet so off-putting, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Halleigh apparently has the same instinct because she's smiling shyly at him from behind my arm. Her shoulders are up around her ears like she's trying to retreat into a turtle shell and my smile comes despite my efforts.

"Well we might have a problem there," I say, turning back to Mr. Northman who returns my smile. "She doesn't like to eat her vegetables."

"Momma, I eat them," she says suddenly, then looks appalled to have spoken up. She softens her voice to a whisper. "I just don't like to do it."

"I know, baby, vegetables aren't any fun." I give her a reassuring pat on her leg, but realize she's not paying any attention to me. Her eyes are focused on the big man by our table.

"What's your name?" she asks quietly, almost reverently. I swivel my head in his direction. This I'm interested to hear, too.

"I'm Mr. Eric Northman," he says, extending his big hand to her. She shakes her head and buries her face in my arm and he lets it drop to his side. "What's your name?"

"Halleigh Compton," she mumbles, peeking around my sleeve just a little.

"Well it's really good to meet you, Miss Halleigh. And it was great to meet your momma as well. Hopefully I will see you ladies around." He tips his hat to us before placing it on his head, and I watch as he leaves the restaurant, bell marking his exit. I turn my eyes back to Halleigh.

"Why so bashful?" I ask, giving her a nudge. She only giggles and buries her face into my arm and I turn my thoughtful gaze back to the door.

"Who's hungry?" asks a familiar voice, and I redirect my gaze. Sam is coming across the dining room, plates in hand. Bashfulness gone, Halleigh sits up straight in her seat.

"Mr. Sam," she cries, giving me a push to escape the confines of the booth.

"Excuse me, ma'am, what do you say?" I ask, not budging an inch.

"Please can I get out?" she asks, nearly bouncing in her excitement. I decide to leave the additional correction for another day and slide off the booth seat.

Sam sets the plates on the table and Halleigh launches herself into his arms. I watch as she nuzzles her face into his neck as she often does mine and my heart drops to my stomach as everything clicks.

What a careless mistake. How did I miss this?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Halleigh's room is dark and I can barely see her head against the white sheets in the moonlight. I tiptoe to her side, mindful to step over the board I know will creak, and lower myself to the floor next to her bed. With the gentle hand, I brush away dark tendrils of hair from her face. Her forehead it hot, and a little sweaty, and I lower the blanket that's pulled up nearly to her neck. She never feels thoroughly tucked in unless she's fully cocooned in her blankets, but summer nights in Louisiana are generally hot and I nearly always uncover her after she's gone to sleep.

The breath of the wind flutters her curtains and I rise soundlessly from my place on the floor to push them open. I stand in the window for a moment, gazing at the stars and enjoying the feeling of the breeze on my skin, before returning to Halleigh and laying a kiss on her forehead. She looks so innocent and peaceful when she is asleep, and I have the greatest urge to stand and watch her all night. I resist the temptation and close her door behind me as I step out into the hall.

Floorboards creak under my feet as I pad down the staircase as quietly as possible and step out onto the front porch. It's nearly midnight and the house is asleep, but I can't seem to get my brain to turn off. All I've been able to do since this afternoon is think about Sam. When had Sam starting acting like a father to my daughter? Better yet, when did Halleigh start treating Sam like her daddy?

For as long as Halleigh has been alive, Sam has been in her life. He has always been the first to volunteer to take her when Gran and I need a break, and is always excited to see her when we stop into the restaurant. But is Sam's love for my daughter just that? Love for my daughter? Or has he been trying to win my favour through Halleigh? My heart clenches painfully at the thought.

My nightgown rustles around my ankles as I walk across the porch, wooden boards rough and weathered against my feet. I step into the deep shadows close to the house and reach out a hand, feeling for the rocking chair I know is hidden in the darkness. My fingers brush the back of the chair, carved many years ago by my grandfather's calloused hands, and I drop down into the seat. The sound of the rockers on the porch is comforting and I relax as I rock, breathing deeply of the night air.

Sam loves me. This is something I know for sure. We've been friends for too many years not to be tied together by some mutual love. Of course, he wants more. He has wanted more since Bill died. He has expressed many times his desire to care for me and for Halleigh. Could it be that he's manipulative enough to use the love of my daughter to get what he wants? Maybe he thinks Halleigh will be so overtaken with adoration for her beloved Mr. Sam that she might encourage me to marry him? That is ridiculous, of course. Children her age know nothing of marriage. Gran and I are the only family Halleigh has ever known and she knows that Bill is her daddy. But maybe, just maybe, that was Sam's plan all along? To gain my love through the love of Halleigh?

The thought that my closest friend next to Gran would try to do that to my child, to me, makes me sick.

I find myself rocking in the chair with more vigor as I gaze out into the night. Tiny pinpricks illuminate the yard, lighting up here and there, on and off. I force myself to slow my rocking and relish the breeze that blows across the porch.

Maybe I am reading too much into this. Sam loves me. This I know. Sam also loves Halleigh. Since she was a baby he has been involved in her life. Could it be that his love for her and her love for him is just natural and normal, with no ulterior motive? I trust Sam with my daughter, I trust Sam with my life, so I would love more than anything to believe his motives are pure. But where Halleigh is concerned I can't be too careful. Do I need to yank her from Sam's arms for our own good or let her very favourite friend hold her close? How do I know? How do I decide? How can I know what's in his heart?

I let out a sigh.

Things would be so much easier if I would just give into Sam. He's proven himself to be a good man and would no doubt make a good father and husband. Yet I keep resisting his advances. Why? Marriage to him would make my life easier, that's for sure. As Mrs. Merlotte I would be able to stay at home and care for Halleigh. I could return to a life where taking care of my husband and my household was expected, and raising children was my full time job. That was my ambition with Bill. That's what I signed up for when I married him. So why doesn't the idea of regaining that role sit well with me? Why can't I see myself in that kind of life with Sam?

I would love to leave waitressing, of that I'm certain, and I would love to give Gran her house back. Surely after all these years she's tired of chasing down tireless little legs and would welcome a quiet home to relax in and call her own. So what is the problem? Why can't I give Sam a chance?

Does this all come down to my allegiance to Bill?

The sound of the screen door opening startles me, and I drag my eyes from the twinkling in the yard to swivel my head. I'm surprised to see Gran step from the house in her nightgown, a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the nighttime breeze. I still my rocking and fall silent. The chirping of cicadas and the croaking of frogs fill the darkness, and I can't hear her movement as she steps forward to rest her hands on the railing. In the moonlight, I can see her looking out toward the yard. I can only assume she's looking at the fireflies that held my attention moments before. She looks younger in the moonlight, somehow timeless and ethereal, and no matter how hard I try I can't take my eyes off her.

"Nice night for thinking," she says softly into the yard, and it takes me a moment to realize she's spoken to me. I resume a gentle rocking and return my gaze to the darkness.

"I couldn't sleep," I say simply. She gives a nod I catch from the corner of my eye, but doesn't turn to face me.

"What's on your mind?" She knows the thoughts that plague me. Somehow she always knows. But she never presumes that her thoughts might be mine, and always lets me say what I need to in my own time. For that, I love her. For that, I am eternally grateful. Unbidden, a tear slides down my cheek.

"I think it might be time to let Bill go." The words are painful to say and come out of nowhere, and I clap my hand over my mouth as if to stifle any further surprise proclamations from spewing forth. Is that really what I wanted to say? Is that really what I was thinking? A brief moment of inner reflection assures me that it is, and several more tears leave trails down my face. I wipe them away with the sleeve of my nightgown, feeling vulnerable and small. I have the greatest urge to run to Gran and sob into the skirt of her nightgown, but manage to remain seated.

"Why do you think that?" Gran asks evenly from her place by the railing. If she's surprised by my statement she isn't showing it. I take a deep breath and force myself to think. Why do I think that? It can't just be this Sam thing, can it? I take a moment to examine that thought. No, it's not just Sam. There's more to it than that. For the last few years, I have been married to a ghost.

Bill was my first of pretty much everything. He was my first love, my first kiss, my first courtship, my first lover, and letting those things go, letting those things die with Bill is an incredibly painful idea. But that's just it. It's an idea. Just like my husband has been for the past few years. He hasn't been here with me day in and day out, suffering the hardships and sharing the joys. He's only been in my heart, nagging at me to remember him, begging me to never forget. I made the decision when Halleigh was born to let go and move on. But did I? Truly? Somehow I get the impression that I did not.

Do I not still visit Bill's grave every single week, at least once a week, without fail? Do I not buy flowers for his grave out of loyalty and love when that money could be used better elsewhere? Don't I include a little prayer for him before I go to bed, sandwiched between my wishes for Gran and Halleigh? Don't I dream of him at night, his laughter, his smile, his voice, our life? Of course I do. I do all of those things. How is that letting go?

Sam or no Sam, relationship or no, I think it's time I stopped thinking of myself as Bill's wife and started thinking about myself as Sookie – waitress, mother, granddaughter – and not as the young widow married to her memories. How can I be truly effective in any of those roles if I keep saddling myself with the weight and responsibility of mourning the man who was once my true love?

I can't. That's the answer. I can't. And that's why I need to let him go.

Right?

I realize I still haven't answered Gran and turn my tearstained face back to where she stands, timeless in the moonlight. I know Gran would never think badly of me for my tears and sorrow, but I am still glad to be hidden in the shadows. I feel conflicted and don't know what to say in response to her question, so I settle for saying nothing. I have a feeling Gran understands, even without my words.

A silent moment passes and I can hear a critter running through the woods. A rumble of thunder sounds in the distance, and I realize the air is starting to smell of rain. Gran turns from her place by the porch railing, eyes peering directly into mine. If I didn't know better, I'd say she can see me through the darkness. Quickly, on light feet, she walks across the porch and lowers herself into matching rocking chair. She doesn't have to feel for hers as I'd had to mine. She somehow knows right where it is.

"You know," she says, rocking ever so gently in her chair, "your granddaddy made these chairs for me not long after we married. I thought it was foolish of him to spend so much time making rockers when there were so many other things that needed doing, but he had other ideas. When I asked him why he was wasting his time on this foolishness he said, 'Adele, our house and the things in it are for our family, but these chairs are for me and you. I want to sit here with you when you're young and pretty, and sit here with you when you're old and gray.' Lucky him, he got out of being old and gray." Her quiet chuckle fills the night and I frown. I don't see why that's so funny. Her husband died just like Bill died. I can't find anything humourous in that. I can feel my face reddening in the darkness.

"The point is," she says, sobering suddenly as if she can feel the heat of my anger, "your granddaddy never intended to go. If it were up to him, he would be sitting in that chair you're sitting in right now, whittling some wood and singing at the top of his voice. It wasn't his choice to leave me alone just like it wasn't Bill's choice to leave you. If it were up to him he'd be with you right now. He never wanted to go."

I let the tears stream down my face unchecked and stare out into the darkness. Another rumble of thunder sounds in the distance and I can see a flash of lightening equally far away.

Am I blaming Bill for dying? Is that really what I've been doing? I thought I was suffering under the weight of obligation, but was I in fact toting along the heaviness of betrayal? I was so young when we got married and was completely unready for Bill to go. I was far too inexperienced to be a single mother and far too young to be a widow, and I'm still too immature for either. It isn't fair that I have to visit a gravesite and think of my husband's gruesome death when I should be planning more babies and making him pot roasts. It's not fair that I come home at night to a cold and empty bed when all I want is my husband by my side. It's not fair that my daughter doesn't have a daddy to call her own and has to find that relationship in my boss, my friend. Other young women get to have their husbands, why can't I have mine? Why am I the one alone?

The emotions running through me are raw and painful, and a sob escapes me before I can stop it. Gran's cool hand reaches hold mine in her strong grip, her worn and delicate skin belying her strength.

"Sookie, listen to me," she commands, something in her voice brooking no argument. I turn my face to where I know she's sitting, even though I can't make her out in the darkness. I clamp my lips between my teeth, warding off the sobs, and flutter my eyelashes to keep away the tears. Whatever she has to say, I know I need to hear it. "There is no shame in leaving a dead husband behind, especially when you have a child and whole life still ahead of you to live. There's also no shame in holding onto his memory. It will take a very wise and thoughtful heart to figure out what's best for you now and through the rest of your life. But you are a young woman who is wise beyond her years, and I know you will make the right decision."

How can she be so sure I will make the right decision? Thinking about Bill is painful and I'm sure I can't be trusted. Can't she just decide for me? Can't my beloved Gran take away the burden of this decision and tell me what's right? Of course she can, Gran would be the one who could if anyone can. I open my mouth to ask, but she continues.

"You're a strong woman and don't you dare forget it. There are many times since Bill died that I've stood by and waited for you to crumble into my arms, but you never did. You always picked yourself up and did what you have to do for yourself and that child. I admire your strength and determination and often wish I'd had some of your fight when I lost my own husband. You've grown into a great woman with a good heart, and I know whatever you decide will be right for you and Halleigh."

My eyes strain against the darkness and the tears, trying desperately to see Gran's face. The thunder sounds closer than before and Gran shifts in her chair as if prompted to action by the sound. She gives my hand one more fierce squeeze before releasing me, and I hold my hand close to me heart

"I'd better get my old bones inside before it rains," she says, pushing up from the arms of the chair and sending it hobbling wildly on it's rockers. "But you remember what I said. Your heart is strong and wiser than you think, and only you know what's best for you. And if that's letting Bill go, so be it." She steps from the shadows and drifts through the moonlight, her nightgown billowing around her slight body like an angel's dress, the moonlight on her white hair reminiscent of a halo. She closes the screen door softly behind her as she steps into the house.

I turn my attention back to the yard, drying the fresh tears with my sleeve.

The cicadas have quieted their song and the wind has picked up a bit. I think the storm might be coming in this direction. As if to confirm my suspicion, a few droplets of rain patter down on the tin roof. With one last breath of the night air and one more good rock, I rise from my seat and head inside.

Though I don't necessarily share Gran's confidence that I have the ability to make the best decision where Bill is concerned, Gran is right in saying that Bill didn't want to leave me. He'd hardly wanted to join the Army and leave for the war, and thought long and hard about his decision to go. He was excited with the prospect for seeing the world, I remember, and was glad to get to get the opportunity to travel. But he hated the idea of leaving me at home to do his work and my work too, and said he would miss me terribly while he was gone. In the end, he couldn't bear the thought of other people's husbands and sons fighting for his freedoms while he sat at home raising babies and plowing his fields. If he'd waited another year, of course, the choice would have been taken from him. But he chose to go, and wanted to go, if not for his country then for his pride.

Still, he intended to come back, I know he did. We had so many plans and a whole life ahead of us. It's not his fault he's gone. It's not his fault I'm all alone with a daughter to raise. If he'd gotten to decide he'd be with me right now. We'd be in our farm house, most likely in bed. I'd be curled up in his arms, probably too warm in the heat, but it would be worth a little sweat to smell him, feel him next to me. Maybe Halleigh would hear the storm and want to come and lay between us. Maybe Bill would give her a hug and whisper that she shouldn't worry as he tucked her in. He wouldn't let anything happen, he would say. He would protect her and her momma too.

A smile curls my lips just a bit at the thought as I climb the stairs, floor boards creaking under my feet.

Halleigh's room is dark, the moon having succumbed to the clouds, and I can't make out her hair against the whiteness of the sheets. A step in her direction and I can see she's pulled her blanket clear up over her head. I smile at that too.

If not for Bill, life would be different. If not for Bill, I would be different. Despite my earlier feelings, his memories and legacy, though painful to face, aren't a hindrance to me. They are a part of me, and Halleigh, and help make us who we are. If I leave Bill behind completely, isn't that like ripping out a piece of myself and setting it aside? Isn't that like tearing up my life and saying I want it to be different?

Maybe it's possible to move on in my life without losing Bill? Maybe it's possible to let someone else in while still holding on to memories of my first love? Could it be that's it's not my allegiance to Bill that is keeping me from moving forward? Maybe it's my own reservations and has been me all along?

Halleigh's curtains flutter wildly in the breeze and I cross her room to close the window, stepping over the creaky board. The rain droplets are starting to come down with more frequency and force and I'm glad I came in when I did. I tiptoe to her side and pull her covers back, brushing my cool hand across her sweaty forehead.

Sam loves Halleigh, this I know for sure. Sam loves me, this I also know. Maybe it's time to give in to Sam and give this dating thing a try?

I lay a kiss on Halleigh's forehead and cross her room toward the door. I pull it nearly shut behind me before padding down the hall to my own room. I close my window against the droplets of rain that have already moistened my curtains and lay stretch out on the mattress, leaving the blankets pushed to my feet.

My heart aches for Bill and my body craves his embrace. The memory of the few nights I was able to relax in his arms is painful, but I let it come. Do I want to give up memories like this to move on with my life? Do I really have to? The thoughts weigh heavily on my mind and in my heart.

My eyes stare blankly into the night. Tears seep from their corners and drip into my ears until I drift off to sleep.

xxx

My eyes open to darkness and the rumble of thunder in the distance. The night is silent and there is no tapping on the roof. Could I have slept through the storm?

The air in the room is hot and still, and I slide from my bed and pad to the window. I throw the curtains wide, letting the bits of moonlight that managed to fight through the clouds stream through the glass. I lift the window and prop it open and cool, wet air fills my lungs. I breathe deeply again, enjoying the feeling, and turn back to my room. I'm surprised to discover a visitor on my bed, curled up on the half of the mattress that my body wouldn't have occupied, head on my pillow as usual. Halleigh must've awakened during the storm and crawled in with me during the night. Her tiny legs are tucked under her nightgown and my blankets are still bunched at the bottom of the bed.

I pull up the blankets and get into bed next to her, lifting her just enough to slide my arms around her and pull her close to me. The room is sweltering and hugging her is like hugging a furnace, but I can't seem to let her go. She won't stand for this much cuddling when she's awake, so I have to take what I can get.

Tucking her head into the crook of my neck, I listen to the song of the frogs as I close my eyes. They seem especially pleased with the rain and their chorus is louder and more diverse than usual.

It's only moments before I drift off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I ask Sam, sliding onto a seat across from him at the bar and smoothing my skirt carefully over my knees. I don't usually like to sit down on the job, especially in the dining room, but Merlotte's has been dead for hours and I'm dying to get off my feet just for a minute.

"Sure can. What's up?" Sam quirks an eyebrow at me, looking up briefly from the glass he's drying. I give him a nervous smile and let my eyes sweep the dining room. The only person in sight is a well-worn farmer with white hair and overalls. Mr. Davis is a regular and stops by Merlotte's often. He's also incredibly hard of hearing. If I speak quickly I can get this out without the risk of being overheard.

I look back at Sam, hands still set to their task, and clamp my lip between my teeth. I know what I want to say, I'm just sure how to say it.

I had lain awake the night before, roused from sleep again and again by dreams of Bill, only to find my waking thoughts full of Sam. Sam is a good man. There's no reason I shouldn't give him a chance as a suitor. But how to tell him that? He has told me again and again and he wants to court me, that he wants to take care of me and Halleigh. And every time he has done it was with seeming ease and sincerity. But now that I am to pose the question I am stumped. What do I say? How do I say it? Do I build up to it slowly, with lots of feeling and superlatives? Or do I just blurt it out? Bill was the only man I ever dated, and he did all the asking in that relationship.

A hand on my wrist brings me back to the present and my eyelashes flutter just a bit as look into Sam's concerned face. "Hey. Is everything okay?" I give myself a little shake and smile my most sincere smile.

"Of course. I was just wanting to ask – " The bell above the door tinkles merrily and I stop mid-sentence, my lips turning down in a frown. Great, I waited too long. I should have just went for the blurt when I had the chance. I slide off the stool, smoothing my skirt, and swivel my head toward the door. The frown slides off my face as I spot Eric Northman.

"Mr. Northman," I say, making my way across the empty dining room with a smile. His eyes brighten as he doffs his hat and my smile grows wider. "Here to see Mr. Merlotte today? I'm sure he can find the time for you." I indicate the empty room with a wave of my hand, but he hardly spares it a glance. Instead, his blue eyes look intently into mine.

"Actually, I'm here to see you." I feel my eyebrows rise.

"Oh?"

"Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Actually, I'm working . . . ." My eyes slide from Eric's piercing gaze to Mr. Davis. He's squinting as his newspaper and mumbling to himself, oblivious to anything going on around him. I let my eyes drift just a bit farther and find Sam looking at us intently, glass and rag still in his hands. I turn back to Eric. "But if you have some time to wait, I get off in fifteen." I pause for just a moment, surprised at myself. What does this man want with me and why am I making it easy for him to get it?

"I have time," he says with a full smile, stepping further into Merlotte's. "I'll just sit and wait." I a little nod and drift back over to the bar as he folds his tall frame into the closest booth. I don't realize I've stopped in front of Sam until he speaks.

"What was that about?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly, watching Eric pull a folded newspaper from the inner pocket of his suit coat and open it to the first page. I can't help but notice that even though it's sweltering outside, he looks cool and composed. I know that if I were wearing a full suit, I would melt. "He said he wanted to speak with me." I look back Sam and I'm surprised at the emotion on his face. Anger and a few things I can't identify make his eyes stormy and dark. I give him a frown. He lowers his eyes when he sees my expression and I let my gaze drift back to the blonde man in the suit. I can hear Sam putting away glasses behind me with a particularly firm hand, but ignore the sound of glass on glass. What could Eric Northman want with me?

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Sam asks suddenly, mouth in a firm line. I look back at him but he won't meet my eyes. What's stuck in his craw? A quick glance at Eric finds him engrossed in his reading. Maybe if I speak quietly?

"I really wanted to ask you something," I say in a near whisper. Sam leans in close to catch my words and his rarely tamed hair tickles my face. I pull back slightly and take a deep breath. I need to just say it. "I was wondering if –"

"Mrs. Compton," says a loud voice from behind me, making me jump and spin on the spot. Mr. Davis beckons me from his table, cup raised high. "Could I have a refill, please?"

"Absolutely," I say in an equally loud voice, regaining my composure and sending a smile his way before skirting the bar to retrieve the coffee pot. Mr. Davis comes into town once every two weeks to purchase supplies and take care of any other business he might have. He never fails to stop into Merlotte's to read the paper, visit, and drink four cups of coffee. Not three. Not two. Four. I fill cup number two to the brim and give him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "There you are, Mr. Davis. Anything worth reading in the paper today?"

"Nothing for women-folk to be worrying their heads on," he says firmly, folding up the newspaper as if he's afraid I'm going to try to sneak a peek while he's not looking. I stifle a laugh.

"Now Mr. Davis, you know good and well that women today aren't like the women of your youth. Modern woman do have brains in their heads and know how to use them."

"I know, I know," he says as soothingly as one can sound while yelling at the top of his voice. We've had this conversation many times. "And you are mighty good with the brain of yours, young lady. Tell me, how's that girl of yours doing?"

"She doing fine, thank you for asking. You'll have to stop by Gran's sometime to see her. She's getting awfully big. She still talks about last time you visited and brought her that licorice. Occasionally she'll ask when you're coming back and if you can bring more candy." Mr. Davis chuckles under his breath. It's a pleasant sound, and several decibels quieter than this speaking voice. "And you know Gran would love you see you. Though I'm certain she'd prefer it if you brought flowers rather than licorice." He tosses his head back and laughs at top volume, flushing a bit under his tan.

Mr. Davis had been courting Gran very, very slowly since his wife died two years ago. Having grown up in Bon Temps, he and Gran were sweethearts in their youth, but both found a match in another. Now that their spouses were gone and their children grown, they were tentatively rekindling their old relationship. It's a relationship I supported wholehearted when it started, and doubly so now that I was looking to start dating myself. I'm sure Gran would love to have her house child free, but I don't want to worry about her being lonely.

I turn my sweetest smile onto the old farmer in front of me.

"Now you stop that laughing. Gran would love to have you and so would I. Why don't you come to dinner after church this Sunday and you can see Halleigh and catch up with Gran. Wouldn't that be nice?" The looks on his face tells me it would be mighty nice, but he hesitates.

"Well I don't know . . . ." he says uncertainly, having recovered from his raucous laughter rather quickly. "I don't want to trouble you ladies none."

"You'll be no trouble at all," I reassure him with another friendly pat on the shoulder. "We'd be more than happy to have you. How about two o'clock?" He looks at me thoughtfully for just a moment, with eyes that are sharp and clear despite his age. He gives a quick nod.

"Two o'clock would you fine. You make sure to let me know if you change your mind or if your Gran won't have me. I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"You're no trouble at all, Mr. Davis, but I will stop by and let you know if something changes." From the corner of my eye I see a bit of movement, and turn my head to find Holly emerging from the back. She gives me a little wave and I glance at the clock. "Well, I'll let you get back to your coffee and paper. I'll see you on Sunday. Don't forget the licorice or you'll have an upset little girl on your hands."

"I won't. Or the flowers," he says, giving another gentle chuckle. I give him one more pat on the shoulder before heading toward Holly with a smile. I know Gran will be thrilled to have Mr. Davis for lunch. It's been at least a month since she's gotten to visit with him outside of church and she's been waiting for next opportunity to have him over.

I make quick work of untying my apron from my waist and brief Holly on our table. She is almost as familiar with Mr. Davis as I am, and all I have to relay is that he's on his second cup of coffee. She'll know just what to do from there.

I toss my apron into the bin just inside Sam's office and glance into the mirror hung above it. I look tired from my interrupted night of sleep and more than a little warm, but I am what I am. I tighten my ponytail and smooth my palms down my skirt before walking back to the dining room to face Eric Northman. Somehow I feel like I'm going into battle and have a brief notion that I should be wearing armour. I push that thought aside quickly. It would never do to clunk around in all that metal on a hot day like today.

Sam pointedly ignores me as I walk back into the dining room and wind my way through the empty tables. I slide into the booth across from Eric, smiling at him over the top of his newspaper. He folds it neatly as I sit down.

"Mrs. Compton," he says as I arrange my skirt to lay neatly across my legs. "Thank you for joining me. Might I call you Sookie?" I nod carelessly. I don't mind either way, I just wish he'd get on with it. He tucks his newspaper into his coat pocket and folds his hands on the table between us. I fold my own neatly in my lap to stop them from fidgeting.

"As you know, I've had some business dealings with Mr. Merlotte that have brought me to Bon Temps. My business is actually based in Shreveport, you see, but I find myself travelling on occasion. While I've been in town, I've been noticing you. You are quite an intriguing lady, you know." Intriguing? Me? I can feel my eyebrows twitch, dying to rise incredulously, but hold them firmly in place through willpower alone.

"Hmm, no, I didn't realize," I say vaguely, eyes sliding from Eric to the bar as if compelled. Sam is nearly shooting daggers in our direction with his eyes and I can't stop myself from frowning at him. What is his problem?

"Sookie," Eric says quietly, and I turn my gaze back to him. I'm captured by his smile and force a smile of my own. He really is a very nice looking man. "I was wondering if I could take you out tomorrow. To dinner. Maybe dancing. I would like to get to know you better." I look at him rather dumbly for a moment, mind still half on Sam and his daggers.

"Excuse me?" I finally manage, blinking at him. Did he just ask me out? The smile on his face falters for a sliver of a second before returning twice as bright.

"Would you do me the honour of accompanying me out tomorrow evening?"

Everything suddenly clicks and a million thoughts blow through my mind at once. I wring my hands in my lap and force the thoughts to come again, slower this time.

Eric is attractive, no doubt about that. It's brings a smile to my face just to be near him, whether I want to smile or not. And his timing is certainly perfect. But there is something dark about him that I can sense, just under the surface. Almost like a tightly reined bull just waiting to be set free. I can't see it looking into his clear blue eyes, I can't see it in his neat hair and suit, but I can feel it. Then there's the matter of Sam.

Would it be fair to Sam to accept a date from Eric? He's been patiently waiting for me for years. He's made his desires known time and time again, and has been wonderful to me and Halleigh . . . but he's never given me the intoxicating feeling I get from being close to Eric.

My eyes stray from Eric back to the bar, now completely Sam-less. Holly stands behind the high counter, manning the cash register and wiping the counter.

I know Sam is a good man through and through. He loves me and respects me, and loves my daughter. He's been with me through the worst days of my life and through the best. He's a steady man with a good job, and would make a wonderful husband. This has an easy answer. I don't know what there is to consider.

"No," I say breathlessly, suddenly, turning back to face Eric. Disappointment clouds his face for a moment so short I might have imagined it. Then his features settle decidedly into a frown.

"No?" repeats quietly. He's obviously not accustomed to being declined.

"No. I'm sorry. I really do appreciate the offer but I don't think I can accept." I watch for a moment his struggle to clear his face of all emotion. After a long moment, he manages to smile.

"As you wish," he says, unfolding himself from the booth with a catlike grace I wouldn't have thought to attribute to someone of his size. "But you haven't seen the last of me. I want you and I will be back." He bows a tiny bow in farewell before placing his hat upon his head. I watch his back as he leaves the restaurant, bell tinkling upon his exit.

Well that was certainly unexpected. The day that I decide I'm ready to move on after Bill I get asked out by a man. Unfortunately, it was the wrong man. Certainty and courage floods me from nowhere.

"Hey, Holly, where'd Sam get to?" I ask, peeling my eyes from the door and sliding from the booth.

"He's back in his office. Said he had to make a phone call." Perfect. Just the kind of quiet moment I need. I make my way down the hall quickly, trying my best to tidy my hair. It's silly, of course, Sam has just finished looking at me at day, but I have the crazy desire to look my best and can't seem to stop fidgeting for the life of me.

"Sam?" I call from the hall, tapping gently on his partially close door. I cock my head but don't hear voices and push the door open a bit more to stick my head into his office. "Sam?"

"What is it?" he asks from his place at his desk, not bothering to look up from the paperwork he's hunched over. I slide through the opening step into the room, closing the door behind me. The air in his office feels thick and electric and I take a few cautious steps toward him.

"Nothing much. I just need to ask you something." His head snaps up from his paperwork, anger written all over his face. The tension in the room increases and I can nearly see sparks coming off of him. I take a step back automatically.

"You wanted to ask about Eric Northman, right?" he asks scathingly, shuffling his paperwork aside and pushing his chair away from the desk. "Right?" he asks with more force. I nod mindlessly, dumbfounded at his tone.

Wait, that's not what I wanted to ask at all.

"No, wait –"

"Wait for what? To tell you that he's a conniving prick who has no business with a child like you?" A stand still, stunned. A child? What part of me is a child? I'm a mother, a widow, and the financial support of my household. Not to mention one of the best waitresses Sam has. I can feel my face heat up in anger.

"Hold on just a second," I demand loudly.

"No," Sam shouts in return. "I'm done holding on. I've held on for four years. Four years I've waited for you to figure out what you want. I've tried everything I could think of to show you I loved you and what did you do? You turned me down every chance you got but just can't say no to a date with that arrogant jerk!"

Is this jealousy? I turned Eric down, what is there to be jealous about?

"But I didn't –"

"Don't start. I heard him ask you, Sookie."

"Of course he asked me, but –"

"Stop!" he commands, bringing a fist down on his desk. I jump at the noise and take a step back toward the door. "I don't want to hear it."

A safe distance away, I glare at Sam. If he would just let me finish a sentence we could end this now. I take a deep breath and think carefully. I have a feeling I'm going to get one shot to say this.

"Sam, just listen to me for a minute," I say quietly, taking a step toward him. A knock sounds on the door behind me and Holly pushes it open without waiting for an answer. She takes in the situation in one brief glance and turns her gaze to Sam.

"Hey, Sam? Beer man's here. Said he needed you to sign some things before he could unload the truck."

"Good timing," he says, skirting around me to the door. "I was just thinking I could use some air." He closes the door behind him with a soft click and I hear the backdoor slam just a moment later. I stand stock still in the middle of the room.

What just happened?

One second I'm trying to ask Sam to go out, the next he's accusing me of dating another man. And then he wouldn't even hear me out about it! Maybe the whole dating thing is overrated. Maybe Sam isn't the man I thought he was. Maybe I'm not over Bill after all.

I resist the urge to cry as I retrieve my purse from Sam's desk. I close the drawer gently before leaving the office. I force a smile for the deliveryman setting crates down in the hall, but Sam won't meet my eyes. With a sigh, I walk past him out the backdoor and into the sunshine. At least it's a nice day. Maybe Halleigh and I can play outside for a little while before dinner. She is always up for a game of hide and seek. I close the door gently behind me and turn toward my car. I'm surprised to find Eric lounging on the hood. He rights himself when he sees me and I give him a confused smile.

"I told you I'd be back, didn't I?" he says, straightening his shirt sleeves and opening the Ford's door. I roll my eyes in his direction.

"You did, I just didn't think it would be so soon." He steps aside while I climb into the truck and closes the door behind me. He leans down to peer at me though the open window. I notice that his broad shoulders block out much of the sunlight, but force that thought out of my mind as I start the truck.

"Unfortunately I don't have a long time to wait. I'm going back to Shreveport late tomorrow night. I would love to take you out before I go. What do you say? Dinner and dancing? Nothing serious, it'll just be fun." Somehow I don't doubt that.

A loud bang sounds at the back of Merlotte's and I look past Eric to see Sam glaring our way. I watch for a moment as he drags crates from the truck and slams them to the ground with much more force than necessary. My eyes narrow in his direction and the anger I felt in his office comes flooding back.

You want to accuse me of going out with Eric, Sam Merlotte? Fine, I'll go out with Eric and give you something to be angry about.

I look away from Sam determinedly and give Eric my best smile.

"Alright let's do it. Can you pick me up at 6?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Why you putting these in your hair?" Halleigh asks from her place on my lap, hands full of the bobby pins I'm using to pin the damp curls of hair in place. A take another pin from her and secure the section of hair occupying my hands.

"It's to make my hair curly and pretty like yours," I respond, eyes firmly on the mirror on not on my daughter at all. It's been years since I've curled my hair and it is a lot harder than I remember.

"My hair isn't curly," she says, somewhat crossly, kicking her feet right into my shin.

"Ouch, Halleigh," I snap grouchily, starting under the kick and shifting her in my lap. "I know your hair isn't curly, baby, but it's awfully pretty. But if you can't sit still and be good for Momma you'll need to go in the other room and play." I catch her pout from the corner of my eye in our reflection in the mirror as I separate some more of my hair and curl it into a big loop. My arms ache from fiddling with my hair but I'm almost done. Only a few more sections to go.

"I am good," Halleigh declares firmly, sliding from my lap and dropping the bobby pins on the writing desk turned dressing table. "You be good, Momma." I watch the reflection of her retreating back as she stomps away from me and out of the room, her bare feet making firm thuds with every step. I sigh, eyes on the empty doorway in the mirror. I'm not being fair to Halleigh, I know. One kick to the shins from a fidgety little lap sitter isn't too bad, considering that we'd been sitting for the past twenty minutes. My eyes shift to my own reflection in the mirror and I breathe deeply, heaving another sigh. Maybe this date with Eric is a bad idea. I know I'm not being fair to Halleigh. And I'm probably not being fair to Sam.

Work at Merlotte's this morning was awkward to say the least. Though Sam seemed to have recovered from his bout of anger yesterday, our relationship is definitely not okay. I spent most of my shift trying to corner him in his office to speak with his privately for just a few moments. Sam spent most of my shift trying to avoid me, speaking to me only when absolutely necessary for us to perform our jobs. I know in my head that I shouldn't feel bad. Sam doesn't have any real claim on me and is the one behaving badly. But my heart doesn't seem to feel the same way and keeps trying to convince me I'm not being fair. That maybe by going out with Eric I'm actually betraying Sam. Should I call off my date with Eric? It is still a couple of hours away, it's certainly not too late to track him down and tell him I've changed my mind. But would that be the right thing to do? For Hallegih, for Eric, for Sam? I just don't know.

I shake my head at my reflection as if trying to shake the thoughts from my mind before returning to my task, sectioning my hair and pinning curlicues to my head. My tired arms and stiff fingers, well-practiced from the rest of my head, make quick work of rolling and fastening the last few sections of hair. I carefully tie a scarf over the whole mess before rising from my chair. No matter my frustrations or doubts about tonight, there's one thing I know for sure. I was not fair to Halleigh. It's not her fault I feel stuck between two men. It's not her fault I can't decide what the right thing to do is. She was being good and helpful, and I should never have snapped at her.

I stick my head into her room as I walk down the hall, but am not surprised to find the room empty. Halleigh prefers to talk when she's upset rather than stew alone in silence, an admirable quality I can appreciate. At least I know I'll never get the silent treatment from her. A quick search of the house reveals no Halleigh, but I do locate Gran on the front porch, sitting back in her rocking chair with her eyes closed. A breeze wafts across the porch as I step outside, and gives me a delicious chill as it touches my sweaty skin.

"Gran," I say quietly, leaning close to her and laying a hand on her arm. Her eyes open to look into mine. She looks tired, but I don't think she was asleep. "Have you seen Halleigh?"

"Yes," she says softly, rocking slightly and closing her eyes again. "She came through here about ten minutes ago. Said her Momma was being bad girl and needed a spanking." A ghost of a smile graces her lips and I can feel my own lips twitch up at the corners.

"Well I can't say I behaved my best," I admit, gazing across the yard to see if I can spot a dark little head. "What did you say that that?"

"I told her that some Mommas do need spankings, but hers isn't one of them." I laugh despite my mood and look back from my search of the yard toward Gran. She's stilled in the rocker again and is looking rather odd. The smile falls from my face as I gaze into hers. I can't pinpoint what looks strange, exactly, but she doesn't seem quite herself.

"Are you okay?" I ask, squatting in front of her chair and laying one hand on her face. "Are you sick?" Her eyes open to peer into mine, looking strong and feisty as ever. She pushes my hand away.

"I'm just fine, child," she says, resuming rocking. "Can't an old woman take a rest without you carrying on?

"Of course you can rest," I say gently, sweeping some stray hairs from her face to soothe, much like I do for Halleigh. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. If you aren't well, I can stay home tonight. I'm sure Eric won't mind." I hold my breath just a bit. Staying home with Gran would solve all of my problems. I would be able to cancel my date with Eric for a good reason, and wouldn't have to feel like I was betraying Sam. Her eyes study me for just a moment, and she pushes my hand away again.

"Nonsense. I won't have you missing your date because you're worried about me. We all look a little sick in all this heat. Now you stop trying to find a reason to get out of your date and go find your daughter. She said she was going to look at the chickens." I take one last look at Gran, a long and appraising look. She returns my look with a long one of her own. Finally, after another moment of silence, I rise without a word and walk through the lawn around the house. There really is no reason to argue with Gran. She always manages to get the last word.

The door to the chicken coop is closed but not latched, and I wade through a pen of chickens to reach it.

"Halleigh?" I call, pushing open the door and sticking my head through the opening. Dust and dander fill the air, and I'm hesitant to step inside. I really don't want to smell like chicken barn on my date. But a small voice reaches my ears from the depths of the enclosure and I step inside anyway, letting the door close behind me. The dust settles onto me instantly, clinging to my sweaty arms and legs. I'm very glad to have wrapped my hair in the scarf for the modicum of protection it provides, and check to make sure all of my locks tucked in neatly while waiting for my eyes to adjust to the hot gloom. "Baby?"

"Yeah?" Halleigh says from my left. I turn to face her and can barely make her out in the darkness.

"What are you doing in here?" I take a couple of steps in her direction to see her more clearly. Her face is still set in a defiant pout.

"Looking at the chickens," she says sullenly, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

"Hmm. Well the chickens are nice to look at, but they're all outside. It's too hot for chickens in their house right now. Why don't you come outside with me and we can look at them together." She eyes me from her spot in the back corner of the coop before giving me a nod. I'm sure she's hot if she's spent more than a couple of minutes here. She puts her small hand into mine and lets me lead her out into the sunlight.

The chicken coop is situated under a big tree where the chickens spend their summer days in their small fence enclosure. At night and in cooler weather, they spend most of their time in the coop. Halleigh and I skirt the fence of the enclosure and come to a stop in the shade right next to the fence. I lower myself to the ground and pull her down into my lap. I can feel the dirt sticking to my legs and try to resist the urge to brush it off. There's no point in brushing off the dirt while sitting in the dirt, so I turn my attention to Halleigh.

"See, this is nice," I say, giving her a little nudge. "It's more fun to look at the chickens when they are actually around. It's not any fun to stand in that stinky old coop by yourself." I watch her as she watches the chickens, pecking and scratching at the ground and each other. Her mouth is still set in a pout and her eyes are riveted by the birds in front of her. "Halleigh, look at me for just a second." She redirects her eyes so they are gazing into mine. I use a hand to smooth the stray hairs from her face.

"I'm sorry about how I acted before when we were in my room. You were being a very good girl and were being very helpful. Momma was just grouchy and didn't behave like she should. I should never have snapped at you and I'm very sorry. Will you forgive me?" Halleigh looks at me thoughtfully for a second, her eyes innocent yet somehow wise. I can see a reflection of my face in their dark depths and give myself a smile.

"Yes, I forgive you," she says finally with a smile, turning in my lap to give me a hug with both of her arms. I give her a hug of my own and lay a kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you very much," I say, lifting her to her feet and standing up after her, wiping the dirt from my skirt. "Now let's get going inside. Your Momma is dirty and has to have a bath before Mr. Eric comes to get me for our date. Gran's going to be starting dinner soon. I heard her say that she was making fried chicken and couldn't do without some help on the eggs. Do you know anyone who can help her?"

"I can!" she shouts, holding my hand tightly and skipping just a bit as we head back toward the house. "Last time Gran said I am an egg-cellent helper." She breaks into joyful giggles at the joke and I can't but help laugh along. Her laughing ceases suddenly as we reach the backdoor.

"Momma?" she asks, pulling me to a stop and turning her face up to mine. Her expression is contrite and quite serious. "Did Gran give you a spanking?"

"She didn't," I say, smiling despite my efforts to keep my face straight and my laughter at bay. "But she certainly thought about it."

xxx

After bathing, dressing, and arranging my curls, I step out of my room to the smell of fried chicken and collard greens. My stomach rumbles hungrily but I do my best to ignore the feeling. Eric is taking me to dinner. The last thing I want to do is fill up on Gran's chicken. I make my way downstairs and through the house and find Gran setting the last of the food on the table as I step into the kitchen.

"Oh Momma," Halleigh breathes from her place at the table, eyes opened wide. "You are the prettiest ever." I can't help but smile at her innocent compliment as I cross through the kitchen to lay a kiss on her head. Despite not having curled my hair in a long time, I am pleased with the result. My blonde locks are a mess of waves and loose ringlets that cascade over my shoulders and down my back. The look is very stylish, bordering glamourous, and I do feel quite pretty.

"Thanks, baby, but I think you're the prettiest ever." I ruffle her hair just a bit and smile at her giggle as I drop into my chair.

"Well I think you're both the prettiest ever," Gran declares with a smile of her own, setting a pitcher of sweet tea on the table and slowly and carefully lowering herself into her seat. "Now whose turn is it to say grace?"

"Yours," Halleigh says, pointing with a small finger toward Gran. Even though I'm not eating I join hands with Halleigh and Gran. It certainly won't hurt to say a prayer before tonight.

"Thank you God for this food we are about to receive," Gran begins, voice strong and reverent, "and thank you for the little hands that helped me prepare it. Thank you, Lord, for blessing this house and all who are in it, and for watching over us and providing for this family. Thank you for teaching us that in order to appreciate the good we must first suffer the bad, and thank you for helping us and guiding us through those bad times as well as the good. Thank you, Lord, for guiding Sookie over the past couple of years, and for helping her make the decisions that have been best for her and Halleigh. Please continue to watch over them in the future as new decisions are being made and new paths are being followed, and grant them the strength to deal with any adversity they might face. Only with your guidance, Lord, will they find the right path for them and attain true happiness. In your name we pray, amen."

That isn't a typical mealtime prayer. My eyes fly open as I echo the amen and I search out Gran's eyes across the table. Her face is serene, her eyes electric, but she still has that strange look about her. She doesn't look sick, exactly, but something is very different.

"Gran, are you –" A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, and I jolt a bit in my seat. A multitude of butterflies spring to life and flutter their wings in my stomach. There's no backing out now. Gran is out of her chair and out of the kitchen before I realize she's moved at all.

"I'll let the man in," she calls over her shoulder, excitement evident in her voice. "You rein in your nerves and meet us at the door." I give Gran's back a smile and roll my eyes. How does she always know? I take a few deep breaths, willing the butterflies in my stomach to calm their wings, and turn my gaze to Halleigh.

"Alright, baby, I'm heading out," I say, rising from my seat to drop another kiss on her head. I take the time to push in my chair.

"Are you going out with Mr. Eric?" she asks, picking up her glass with two hands and slurping at her tea.

"I am," I say, cringing at the slurping sound but letting her do it. "Please be good for Gran tonight and do whatever she tells you. I don't think she's feeling very well so be extra quiet and extra good."

"I'm a good girl, I will be good," she says with a nod, using fingers to lift a leg of chicken to her mouth and taking a bite. The drumsticks are her favourite since I let her use her fingers.

"Thank you, ma'am, I know you will be. You'll be asleep when I get home, so I will see you in the morning." She gives me a nod and takes another bite of chicken as step from the kitchen into the hall. The butterflies in my stomach transform into owls and beat their wings twice as hard. I swallow hard. I can do this. I can do this. There's nothing to be scared about. He's just a man. He won't bite.

I force a smile as I step into the living room and take in the giant blonde just inside the front door. He looks amazing. His gray pinstripe suits fits like it was made for him, and the blue shirt underneath makes his eyes pop. Those eyes seek me out from across the room, and the breath whooshes from me as his gaze meets mine. I can't seem to look away and feel almost hypnotized by his eyes. Gran says something to him softly, and his eyes leave mine to focus on her. I give a little cough to start myself breathing and force my feet to move me in his direction.

"Good evening, Sookie," Eric says with a bow when I finally join them by the door. "I've brought you some flowers." He extends his hand, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers I overlooked in my hypnotized state. I hold them to my nose and breathe deeply.

"Thank you," I say with a smile, taking another whiff of the sweet bouquet. "You didn't have to do that." I hold the flowers out to Gran and she takes them from me, holding them to her face and breathing in their scent.

"Of course I did," he says, looking down at me. "And if I had known you had such a lovely Gran, I would have brought some for her too." I feel myself getting lost in the depths of his eyes and give myself a little shake. I am a widow with a daughter and here I am acting like I've never met a man before. Geesh.

"I'll let her share some of mine," I say with a smile, trying in vain to look into his eyes without getting lost in them. The three of us stand silently in the hall, mine and Eric's eyes locked on each other, Gran nearby holding the flowers. He really is an attractive man. Gran clears her throat noisily.

"Well, if you two will excuse me, I've got to be getting back to dinner. I'll get these into water for you Sookie. Mr. Northman, it was great to meet you." Eric gives her a nod and I a quick peck on the cheek as she turns to walk back through the living room.

"It was great to meet you as well, Mrs. Stackhouse. Maybe we will find the time to talk more someday soon."

"I'd wager we will," Gran says with a smile, moving silently through the living room and back into the hall toward the kitchen. I can here Halleigh exclaiming over the flowers as I turn back to Eric.

"Shall we get going?" he asks, opening the door with a smile and ushering me through a grand wave of his arm. The owls in my stomach downgrade to butterflies at the genuine warmth in his smile.

"Let's do it."

It feels strange linking my arm with his and allowing myself to walk close to him as we head across the lawn to his car, a bright red flashy thing that is certainly brand new. I'm almost afraid to slide into the immaculate interior for fear of ruining it or getting it dirty, and manage sneak a glance at my shoes before stepping in and lowering myself onto the seat. Once I'm tucked in, Eric closes the door behind me and in less than a minute, we're racing down the driveway, bouncing madly over holes and rivets. It only takes another moment before we're turning out onto the Hummingbird Road. I grip the edge of the seat tightly as we fly down the dirt path quite a bit faster than I'm comfortable with.

"What's the hurry?" I ask, not surprised to hear the nervous quiver in my voice. Eric takes his foot off the gas.

"No hurry," he says, shooting me a glance and a smile. "I forget that not everyone likes it as fast as I do." Fast is one thing, flying another. I coax my fingers to release their grip on the seat and fold them neatly in my lap, hoping I didn't leave nail marks in his leather. We're certainly not going as slowly as I would like, but his reduced speed is much more tolerable. The silence in the car stretches out while Eric concentrates on driving a normal speed and I watch the scenery flash by.

What kinds of things do people talk about on first dates nowadays?

"So where are we heading?" I ask, my voice sounding breaking into the silence. He tears his eyes from the road long enough to glance my way.

"There's a place in Monroe I thought we might try, a new club that just opened up. There aren't many options in Bon Temps." No, I guess he's right. The only suitable place I can think of is Merlotte's, and that would be a little awkward. At the thought of Merlotte's, I feel a tiny twinge of guilt, but I force it aside. I might have accepted this date with Eric out of frustration with Sam, but I wasn't the only one who behaved badly. I know Sam likes me but he doesn't own me, and he certainly doesn't have any right to overreact because I've agreed to dinner with another man. I shouldn't have to feel guilty for accepting one date. If Sam can't see that, maybe he's not the man I thought he was.

The rest of the ride to Monroe passes in silence, me lost in thoughts of Sam, Eric focusing on the drive. After what feels like an eternity, we pull into a dirt lot full of cars in front of a brightly lit building. I can hear a band playing the second Eric opens my door and excitement races through me. I haven't been dancing in years. Eric holds the door for me as we step inside, and we stop at a podium situated by the entrance.

"Good evening. Dinner reservation for Northman," Eric says from behind me. I watch as the hostess examines the book on the podium in front of her, presumably looking for his name.

"Ah yes, Mr. Northman," she says, making a mark in her book with a big, black pen. "Please, come this way." Eric's hand on my back urging me forward feels a little too intimate and I step away, just out of his reach. I follow the hostess around a wall, down several steps, and smile as the main dining around comes into view. The club is comprised of a big room with a dance floor in the middle and a bar down one side. A stage, currently full of band members and a vocalist whose voice is giving me goose bumps, runs across the front side of the room. Round tables comprise the remaining two sides. The waitress leads us to a small table near the dance floor.

"Is this suitable?" she asks, gesturing toward the table. Eric gives her a nod and she places two menus on the table. "You folks enjoy your evening."

"Thank you," I say as she walks away, lowering myself into the chair that Eric is holding out for me. He pushes it in as I sit and folds himself into his own chair. I place my napkin in my lap before picking up the menu. The menu is extensive, with over four pages of selections, and it takes a while for me to make up my mind. I finally decide on a fancy sounding chicken dish and Eric decides on steak. After the menus are cleared away and our drinks are served, I find myself staring across the table at Eric in silence.

"So Sookie," he says, blue eyes sharp on my face, long fingers twirling his glass absently, "why don't you tell me about yourself." I clear my throat gently and swallow to keep the butterflies down.

"There's not really much to tell," I say with a short laugh. "I think you know pretty much everything there is to know. I've been working for Sam for the past few years and like my job for the most part. I've lived with Gran since Halleigh was born and don't really have much other family to speak of."

"No brothers or sisters?" he asks, raising his glass to his lips and taking a long sip.

"I have one brother, Jason. He moved away after the war. Not enough jobs in Bon Temps, apparently." He nods in acknowledgement.

"What of your husband's family?" I stiffen in my seat at the mention of Bill and can feel my stomach church. In all the drama with Sam, Bill hadn't crossed my mind once. I clench my hands in my lap.

"All dead." I answer shortly, trying to push the thoughts of Bill from my mind. My dead husband does not belong on a date. "Why don't you tell me more about yourself? I don't know anything about you other than you're from Shreveport. Are you from Shreveport originally?"

"I'm not, actually," he says, leaning back in his seat and stretching his long legs out in front of him. "My family moved to Louisiana when I was a boy."

"Where are you from originally?"

"Oh, here and there," he says with a wave of his hand. "We moved around quite a bit. Why don't you tell me more about Halleigh? She's about four, right?"

"Yeah, about." If he's going to be vague, I can certainly match him. "She's quite the kid, full of energy and questions and courage. I wouldn't trade her for anything." I can feel a misty smile drift across my face, which certainly isn't lost on Eric. He returns my smile with one of his own.

"She seems like a delightful girl. Did her father get to meet her?" The smile falls from my face and I lower my eyes to my glass, fidgeting with it enough to make the ice clink.

"No," I say softly. "He died before she was born." Why are we talking about Bill on the night I'm trying to move on with my life? Bill is gone. Surely there is something else we should be talking about. Eric's leans forward in his chair, extending his arm to graze the back of my hand with his fingertips.

"Sookie," he says softly, and I raise my eyes to his. I pull my hands into my lap and force a smile.

"Why don't you tell me about what you do for a living? I know you've been speaking with Sam. Are you in the restaurant business?"

"Something like that," he says, sliding his hand back to turn his glass, his eyes still focused on my face. I can't help but notice that his smile has disappeared completely. "There are quite a few ventures that I am involved with. I am a man of many interests, and find success in many things." Well that doesn't tell me anything. I sigh quietly and take a sip of my drink, looking out to the couples on the dance floor. This date doesn't seem to be worth all of the nerves and drama. So far I've suffered an awkward car ride, learned nothing about Eric, and find the conversation going back to Bill again and again. This would have gone better with Sam. I turn my gaze back to the table and am surprised to find Eric's eyes still intently on my face. I give him a little smile as I set my drink onto it's napkin.

"Would you like to dance?" Eric asks suddenly, taking a sip of his drink before rising from his chair. I remain seated, surprised, looking at his proffered hand.

"What about our food?" I ask, nearly tripping over my words.

"We'll come back when it arrives. Come on, just one. It'll be fun." I lift my eyebrow at him just a bit, but take his hand and let him help me from my chair. No matter how weird this date has been, I might as well get in a dance. Who knows when I'll ever have the opportunity again?

We take a few steps out onto the dance floor and I let him take me into his arms. It feels strange to let him hold me close, and I'm careful to keep some distance between us as the band starts a new song and the vocalist starts to sing. The song is quiet, romantic, and I feel that space between us melting away as I let myself drift with the music. Eric is a wonderful dancer for such a big man, and I find myself looking up to him with a smile.

"You're a lovely dancer," I say as we sway in time to the music. "Where did you learn to dance so well?"

"My mother taught me," he admits with a crooked smile I imagine to be reminiscent of his childhood. "The more I grew the more certain she was that I would become an oaf. She insisted on lessons when I hit my second growth spurt. She refused to let me stop until I could be counted on not to trod on my partner's feet." I laugh quietly.

"Well she did quite well by you. My feet have never felt safer. Most of the boys from Bon Temps aren't such good dancers, especially Bill. He used to crush my toes with every other step." The laughter dies on my lips and my smile drifts away at the mention of Bill. I lower my eyes. Now I'm the one bringing him up. What's wrong with me?

"Sookie, look at me," Eric commands, using a finger under my chin to guide my eyes back to his. I allow him this movement and force a smile. "You don't have to let Bill ruin our night. I know you were married before and I'm okay with that. He's always going to be a part of your history, and Halleigh's, and talking about him is going to happen when you're trying to get to know someone. You don't have to change the subject whenever he comes up. I want to know about you and Halleigh, and learning about Bill is a part of that. I'm sure it feels strange talking about with me, but it's really okay. Just talk about what you can and we'll save anything too hard for another time. Okay?" A give him a smile, a real one this time, along with a tiny nod. He's absolutely right.

As much as I want to push Bill away now that I'm trying to move on, he's a part of me, in history at least. Even though I'm letting go, he's going to be connected to me for the rest of my life. I don't have to put him away to move forward. In fact, I can't put him away no matter how hard I try. The thought brings a larger smile to my face and I give Eric another nod.

"Okay," I say with certainty, almost laughing at the sudden feeling of freedom coursing through me.

"Alright," Eric says with a smile of his own, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Now let's go eat. It looks like they are bringing our dinner."

xxx

The rest of our evening goes spectacularly well and is filled with dinner, dancing, and getting to know each other. Mostly Eric got to know me, but I got a few bits of hard won information from him that made me feel cunning and persuasive. It's half nearly midnight when Eric pulls his car into Gran's driveway, cutting the engine just inside the tree line. He turns to face me in his seat, and I can barely make out his face in the darkness.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," he says quietly, reaching through the night to make my hand. "Did I mention that you look amazing?" I can feel my face heat up with a blush and am suddenly glad to have spent all that time on my hair.

"You didn't," I say, giving his hand a little squeeze. "You were too busy not telling me a thing about yourself to give me a compliment." His laughter fills the air and I smile in his direction.

"Well you look amazing. I was lucky to have such a beautiful woman on my arm tonight."

"Thank you," I say, feeling my face warm even further. "You don't look so bad yourself." He laughs again, more softly this time, and scoots a little closer to me on the seat. I resist the automatic urge to slide away. There isn't anything wrong with being close to this man. I've let him hold me close all night, no reason to get skittish now.

"Thanks. But really, I had a great time. You're different than other women I have dated. I would love to see more of you. I wish I just lived closer."

"Shreveport isn't all that far. It's certainly not right around the corner, but it's not across the country." Honestly, I would love to see more of Eric. Once it got started our evening was fun and very interesting. Doubts about Sam still filled my thoughts, but with the way he's behaved over this whole date thing, I'm not sure he's the right man for me with or without the complication of Eric.

"I know." He turns in his seat to face me, though I know he can't see me through the darkness. "I'm going to be going out of town for the next two months, travelling for work. After that I'll be back in Shreveport for a while. Can I see you when I get back? I know that there are other men interested in you, but will you wait for me?" I stare off the darkness, into the place where his face is, thankful Eric can't see my expression in the shadows. He wants me to wait for him? Better yet, he wants to drive from Shreveport with some regularity to see more of me?

"Eric, I don't know –"

"Please, Sookie? It's just two months. What's two months?" Nothing, really. I gaze at him through the darkness, unable to see much of him in the moonlight, and let the thoughts whir through my head. I really like this man. And it's just a couple of short little months . . . .

"Okay," I say finally, sure of my decision. "I'll wait. But you have to write so I know you've not forgotten me."

"I could never forget you," he says softly, his voice even and deep and full of an unidentifiable emotion. "I'll write as often as I can." I can make out his movement through the darkness, but the touch of his lips brushing against mine is still a surprise. I gasp at the gentle pressure and only have time to blink my eyes shut before he presses his lips to mine in earnest.

The kiss is sweet, but intense, and takes my breath away. His hand on my neck holds me close and I'm overcome with a heady feeling, like the world is spinning. Kissing Bill was certainly never like this. I pull away suddenly, sliding away from Eric across the seat, and gasp a bit to catch my breath. Eric starts the car and pulls forward into the clearing.

"And now you'll never forget me," he says with a chuckle as I touch my lips gently. I open my own door as we pull up near the house.

"Thanks for a wonderful evening," I say, sliding from the car before he can pull me into another kiss. I definitely need to give my feelings regarding him a little more thought before we do any more kissing.

"Thank you for waiting," he says with a smile. "I promise to write. And I'll see you in two months." I close the car door as quietly as possible and watch in silence and he disappears into the woods. My mouth curves into a smile as I turn toward the house and climb the steps to the porch. I'm certainly glad I didn't cancel my date now. Two months seems like such a long time to wait to explore this interesting relationship further, but I know it will be here before I know it.

I slide the key into the lock on the front door and turn it quietly, but don't hear a click. That's odd. I try the knob and it turns in my hand. I guess Gran forgot to lock up before she went to bed. It's not a problem, crime is almost non-existent in Bon Temps, but it certainly is surprising. Locking up before bed is Gran's habit. Maybe she isn't feeling well after all. The front door creaks as I push it open, something it's been doing more and more frequently over the past few months, and I take a step inside. The house seems darker than usual and I squint to take in my surroundings. Are the curtains not open in the living room? Gran always opens the curtains to let in the moonlight.

"Momma?" says a small voice from behind me, stopping me in my tracks. My heart stops beating and I spin on the spot to find Halleigh standing fully dressed on the porch. Ignoring the darkness inside and out and the fear racing up my spine, I step back outside to her.

"Baby, what's wrong?" I ask, kneeling next to her and scanning her body for damage by the light of the moon. I don't see noticeable marks marring her skin and use my fingertips to feel for broken bones. What is she doing out here in the middle of the night by herself? My eyes return to her face. I can tell she's been sleeping. And she's been crying. A ghost of a thought glances off my mind, but I won't let it in. I refuse. Not tonight.

"Halleigh, what's happened? Are you okay?" I ask, hearing the hysterical note in my voice. Her tears start anew and I pull her close to me. "What's happened, baby? Why are you outside?"

"Gran sleeping," she croaks through her tears. My stomach drops and my own tears start to course down my face uninvited. I shift so I'm sitting on my bottom and pull Halleigh into my lap, holding her to my chest and rocking her gently. I smooth her hair with my free hand and whisper unintelligible words to sooth her sobs. I can feel my tears dampening her hair.

"Where is Gran sleeping?" I ask after a long moment of waiting for her sobs to die down. My voice sounds loud to my ears against the chorus of the night.

"In kitchen," she says softly, keeping her face buried in my dress. I pull away from her gently, wiping at the wetness on my face, and take a deep breath, trying to force a calm that won't come.

"Halleigh, Momma really needs your help. Do you think you can help me?" She looks unhappy and uncertain but nods her head anyway. I give her a little hug and lift her off my lap and onto her feet. "I need to go inside for a minute to see Gran. Can you stay right here for Momma and count all the lightening bugs that fly by? Gran said you can count up to sixty now." She nods her head, an odd combination of sorrow and eagerness on her face, and I take her hand as I rise from the porch. "Sit in Gran's chair and count. Don't go anywhere. Be a brave girl and I'll be right back." I hear her climb into the rocker and begin counting softly, speaking barely above a whisper. Her voice sounds tinny in my ears and my tears continue to fall as I turn back to the open door of the house.

I feel slightly sick and a little dizzy as I step into the living room. The whole room spins as I turn click on the closest lamp. The room is neat and empty, and looks normal. But the curtains are closed. They should be open. Gran always opens them before she goes to bed to let the moonlight in. She always says it will help the midnight snackers find kitchen without smacking their shins on the coffee table. I skirt the coffee table neatly, savings my shins, and walk to the hall. The kitchen is a big void at the end and I eye the darkness dubiously. Wouldn't it make more sense for Gran to sleep in her bedroom? Of course it would, I'll bet Halleigh got it wrong. Gran wouldn't sleep in the kitchen. She would never choose a hard floor over her feather mattress. Halleigh must be mistaken. I'm sure Gran's in her room just like usual.

I dart into Gran's room at top speed, scared of what will happen if the darkness from the kitchen touches me, and click on the lamp on the chest of drawers just inside her door. I cock my head at her empty bed, confusion mixing with dizziness to churn my dinner wildly in my stomach. Well that's strange. Why isn't she sleeping in her bed where she belongs? She's far too old to sleep in that drafty old kitchen. Maybe her sheets are dirty and she didn't have time to wash them? Maybe she's in the other bedroom?

I make a mad dash across the hall, careful to keep the darkness in the kitchen as far away as possible, and I click on the lamp inside the door. I cock my head at the second empty bed. Cold tendrils of fear are beginning to snake their way through me, and I can't figure out where that high pitched ringing is coming from. Maybe Halleigh isn't wrong after all? Wasn't I just telling Eric that she is a smart girl? Eric and our date seem miles away from this dark house and these sickening feelings, and it take me a moment to realize he left me less than ten minutes ago. Is that even possible?

I scrub my hand across my face, wiping away the tears and trying to keep the nausea at bay. I step back into the hall and face the black hole at the end. The kitchen. The darkness is almost palpable, and I can't help but feel like it will try to eat me alive if I touch it. My feet walk toward the void seemingly of their own accord, and I feel like a bystander in my own body. I watch as my hand reaches out to click on the lamp on the closest counter. My world snaps back into focus and everything is all too real when the light fills the room.

"Gran," I sob, tripping over myself in my haste to get across the room to her. I fall to the floor at her side and take her hand in mine. Her fingers are stiff and her skin is cool to the touch. "No." I brush her hair back from her face, looking closely for any signs of life. Her lips are purple and her skin is waxy.

"No," I sob, burying my face in her hand and mine. "No, no, no. Gran, please wake up." The pain in my chest is intense, crushing, and it takes some effort to take a breath. Gran can't be gone. She can't be. Who will take care of me and help me make the right decisions? Who will share their wisdom when I don't know what to do? Who will remember I like brownies on my birthday? No, she can't be gone. She can't be.

"Gran," I say firmly, my voice breaking over my tears. I grip her shoulders and give them a shake. "You have to wake up. Wake up now, I need you. You can't sleep. Please." She doesn't budge under the movement. Maybe she can't hear me? "Gran? Gran!" I nearly shout, less than an inch from her face. She doesn't move. My eyelids flutter, raining tears onto her cheeks, and I use gentle fingers to wipe them away. Gran won't like my tears on her face. Gran's always partial to the tears on her chest. After Bill, she used to hold me to her for hours and let me sob into her blouse. Much like I do for Halleigh.

At the thought of my baby I lurch to my feet, wiping my tears on the collar of my dress. I need to be strong for Halleigh. My brave, beautiful girl needs me. I can't fall apart now.

I walk from the kitchen slowly, forcing the rational part of my mind to take charge. Halleigh was here alone with Gran for hours. She's been waiting countless minutes on the porch scared and alone, being strong because she had to be, being brave because she was forced. And now she's sitting outside counting lightening bugs, waiting for her Momma to take those responsibilities from her and to let her cry and to be a child. It's time for me to let her rest and hold her while she cries. I can cry too, of course, but my comforter is gone. There is no one to hold me this time. My lips quiver at the thought but I banish it from my mind before it can take hold.

I can't think about it right now. I can't cry about it right now. Right now we have to call someone to get Gran out of the kitchen. Right now I have to go to my daughter. Right now I have to be in control.

I take a deep, steadying breath at the front door and listen for Halleigh's counting before stepping from the house and onto the porch. I clear my throat gently and am surprised to find my voice steady.

"How many were there, baby?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Are you folks ready to order?" I ask the couple at table four, pulling my order pad from my apron and giving them a smile. After a quick glance at each other they give both give a nod, and the husband gestures with a wave toward his wife. Guess she's going first. I turn my smile toward her, pen poised.

"I think I'll have –"

"Momma?" interrupts a small voice from behind me, followed up with a tug on my skirt. The smile stays on my face, but I close my eyes for a moment in frustration. Halleigh's been underfoot all day. I brush her hand from my skirt and smile apologetically at the couple.

"Excuse me for just a second." I take a few steps from their table, pulling Halleigh along with me, and crouch down to her level. I want to scream or give her a shake, but force myself to smile instead. I pluck a loose thread from her dress, and straighten her skirt. "What is it, baby?"

"When will you come to play with me?" My frustration raises another notch and I can feel the corners of my lips turn down in a frown. I manage to keep my voice gentle.

"You know Momma can't play while she's working. But you have lots of paper. Why don't you go draw a house for your paper dollies to live in?" The look on her face is one of frustration. I'm dying to tell her that I can relate but keep my mouth shut.

"No!" she say loudly, stomping her little foot angrily. "I want you." My frown grows deeper and I long to shout back. But I can see the tears welling up in her eyes and try to keep my voice gentle.

"Halleigh Compton, you stop that right now." I say, much harsher than intended, but still better than a shout. "Go sit down. Miss Holly will be here any minute and we can go." Her lips start to quiver just a bit with the tears, and I long to pull her into my arms and cuddle her. Unfortunately, I don't have that option.

"But Momma –"

"No buts. Go sit, please."

She gives me an angry look, then one that breaks my heart, before stomping back to her booth in the corner. She throws herself onto one of the padded seats and wiggles down between the bench and the table. I want to throw something or cry but settle for a sigh, and turn back to the couple waiting patiently to place their orders. I force a smile onto my face.

"Sorry about that. What was it you'd decided on?"

"I think I'd like the country fried steak," says the woman, looking away from me and down at the menu in her hands. "Does that come with mashed potatoes?"

"It does," I say with a nod, jotting her order on my pad and taking the menu from her hand. "Greens too. What about for you, sir?"

"I'd like to have the chicken and dumplings. And another cup of coffee when you get a second."

"Absolutely." I write down his order and take his menu, forcing another smile. "Give me just a moment to put in your order and I'll be back with that coffee." I keep my mind off the booth in the corner as I walk behind the bar, stashing their menus and handing their ticket through the pass through to the kitchen. I make quick work of filling their coffee cups, as well as the cups of several other diners before letting me thoughts roam to the girl in the corner, whose feet I can see sticking out from the end of the table. I heave a sigh and think pleasant thoughts as I make my way through the dining room.

"May I sit here?" I ask, sliding onto the booth seat and tucking my skirt neatly around my legs. A dark little head doesn't make an appearance and I heave another sigh. "Halleigh. Come on out." I hear a little sniffle from under the table and scoot further into the seat, lying on my side after a surreptitious glance around the dining room. I peer into the dark space under the table and am met with big round eyes and a miserable, tear stained face. My heart sinks, but I force a smile.

"Well hey there," I say softly, reaching out a hand to wipe the tears from her face. "What's going on under here?"

"Nothing," she mutters, brushing my hand away and wiping her own tears with a little fist. I move my hand to stroke her hair instead.

"No? Nothing at all?" She gives her head a shake, sending loose hair cascading over her face. I tuck it behind her ears with gentle fingers. "I know it's been a hard day. It can't be fun to sit around all day while Momma works. But Miss Holly will be here any minute and then we can go, okay?" Her head bobs in the tiniest of nods. I kiss my fingers and lay them on her forehead. "Thank you, sweetheart."

I push myself back to sitting and make a quick sweep of the dining room. There are quite a few people in Merlotte's tonight, but everyone seems to be satisfied for the time being. I heave another sigh without thinking about it and make sure my ponytail is tight. Evening shifts are the worst on Halleigh. The dining room is full and no one has time to play.

I resist the urge to lay my head on the table on cry.

Life since Gran has died has been hard, especially Halleigh. Her life has drastically changed since that lonely night on the porch just a few weeks ago. Long gone are those lazy days at the farmhouse chasing chickens, tending flowers, and cutting paper dolls with her Gran. Now her days are filled with seemingly endless hours in the corner booth of Merlotte's, drawing, singing, and having tea parties with Sam. Sam says he doesn't mind her, and the other waitresses are great about helping out when they can, but I can't help but feel guilty. Halleigh deserves the chance to be a kid, to run, play, to learn, and all I can give her is the inside of Merlotte's.

I start just a bit as an arm snakes around my leg and Halleigh pulls her body close to mine. She lays her head on my knee and I smooth her brown locks with my hand. Her hair is soft, and baby fine, and I'm reminded just how young and innocent this girl really is. Without warning, a fierce wave of rage floods me and I fight to keep my face blank and my hands gentle in her hair.

It's just not fair! Halleigh's only a child. Why should she have to suffer like this? Why does she have to be good and play quietly day after day while her mother works? Why can't she run and holler and be a kid? Why should this have to be her life? Why can't she be like all the other little girls?

She deserves to have a mother who stays home all day, cleaning and cooking and playing. She deserves to have a father who comes home after work to tell her she's pretty and read to her before bed. Why can't she have that? She didn't do anything wrong. She didn't make her father a noble man who refused to let someone else fight his battles. She didn't make her great-grandmother a woman whose wisdom matched her years exactly, and whose time came before we were ready. She's just a little girl, so innocent, so brave. Why can't she have what other girls have? Why is she stuck with me, without a father, without a Gran? Why does she only have a momma, and one who isn't nearly enough?

A tear trickles from my eye unbidden and I wipe it away before it can even moisten my skin. The fierce rage gives way to melancholy.

Between Gran and me, we were doing alright. We had enough love to give that the little things we couldn't afford weren't missed. We were happy, life was good. And now all of that is gone. Now it's just me and Halleigh.

I catch Holly's wave from the across the room and give a wave of my own, struggling to refocus my thoughts. I tilt my head to look back under the table. Halleigh looks sullen, for sure, but the tears have stopped falling. I don't feel happy myself, but I force a smile.

"Holly's here, baby. Why don't you come out of there and draw one last picture while Momma gets her purse?" She gives a nod and crawls obediently onto the bench beside me. I wipe at her wet face with a napkin from my pocket, and hug her close to me for just a second. I lay a kiss on her head before sliding from the booth and beeline for the bar.

Today has been one of our rougher days. The sooner we can get out of here the better.

I meet Holly in the hall and brief her on our section before heading into Sam's office.

Since our angry encounter in his office a month ago, things with Sam have gotten mostly back to normal. After a strange day or two, he never mentioned his overreaction again, and I've made a point not to bring it up either. When I think about it, that day seems so long ago and almost unreal. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been from someone else's life, or maybe it was a dream. It was real, though, whether it feels real or not. I have Eric's letters to prove it.

The week after Gran died I received my first letter. It was short, probably only thirty words, but it transported me back to that night in the club, dancing, laughing, talking. With everything going on with Gran, I had managed to forget the fun that we'd had and the feelings that we'd shared. I'd somehow even managed to forget the kiss.

A smile lifts the corners of my lips at the thought of Eric's lips pressed against mine in that dark car in the woods. He is an excellent kisser and had given me the best kiss of my life. Being with Eric was definitely exciting. And if it hadn't been for that fight with Sam, I would have never had that night.

Of course, if it hadn't been for that fight with Sam, Halleigh wouldn't have been alone with Gran when she died.

I frown at the thought as I step into Sam's office.

"Hi, Sookie," Sam says, springing from his chair with a smile and rubbing his hands across the front of his pants. It looks almost like he was waiting for me and I narrow my eyes just a bit in his direction.

"Hi, Sam," I say, crossing over to his desk to retrieve my purse. "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he says, and my eyes narrow further. He doesn't sound convincing in the slightest and I am flat out of patience.

"Out with it," I prompt with a wave of my hand, slamming his desk drawer and taking a few steps toward the door. He looks sheepish for a moment before giving me a nervous smile. My heart starts to beat just a little faster. What does he have to be nervous about?

"I was just hoping to talk to you for a minute before you go. Do you have a second?" My eyes slide to the clock. It's getting late and I still have to make dinner before Halleigh can go to bed. We work the early shift tomorrow so I really don't have a second, but I don't get the impression Sam's actually asking. I take another step toward the door.

"Of course. What's up?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. With Gran gone, you and Halleigh are on your own and I know things aren't the greatest. You're working all the time and doing what you can for Halleigh, but a restaurant just isn't the place to raise a child." My heart nearly stops in my chest and I lean to the closest wall for support. Is Sam firing me? There isn't any other place in town that hires women. What will I do if I don't have a job? How will I feed my daughter?

"Sam, I'm so sorry," I say quietly, scrambling for a solution that will prevent this from happening. "Maybe I can get one of the other waitresses to watch her when they aren't working, or maybe I can pay a neighbor to keep her. I'll work something out. You should have told me she was a problem. Please don't fire me. You know I can't afford to lose this job." The look on Sam's face is one of pure shock.

"Fire you?" he says with a laugh that does nothing to raise my spirits. "Sookie, I'm not trying to fire you. I'm trying to ask you to marry me." Now it's my turn to look shocked.

Sam wants to marry me? Why would he possibly want to do that?

"I don't know what to say," I mumble honestly, my mind so full of jumbled thoughts I can only pick one out. He wants to marry me?

"I know it's sudden," he says, taking a few steps in my direction, "but think it over. I'm a simple man, Sookie, with a simple life. I'm sure you deserve better than what I am and what I can give you. But I love you. And I love Halleigh. I know I could be a good husband to you if you'd just give me a chance." Sam closes the space between us and raises his hand, slowly, hesitantly. He brushes his knuckles across my cheek in the gentlest of caresses. My eyes blink shut at the sensation and I'm surprised to find his face inches from mine when I open them. He breathes my name so quietly it might not have been spoke at all before lowering his lips to mine.

The lips are warm, and not too wet, and their gentle pressure sends tingles of excitement racing through me. His kiss is sweet and loving, slow and languid, and not rushed in the slightest. A shiver runs through me raising goose pimples on my skin. Sam runs his hands down my arms as if try to warm them before sliding an arm around my waist and pulling me closer. I clear my throat gently before stepping out of his embrace.

Did Sam really just kiss me? Better yet, did I really just kiss Sam? I don't know what to say as I stand looking at him.

"I've got to get going," I manage finally, choosing to ignore the disappointment on Sam's face. He covers it quickly with a smile.

"I know you do. Just think it over, okay? And let me know."

"Okay," I agree with a nod, "I'll think about it." I give Sam one more smile before walking out of his office. My heart is pounding as I step into the dining room.

Everything looks like it did just a few moment ago. The dining room is still full, Halleigh is still in her booth, food is still coming from the kitchen. Yet everything is different. It's strange that no one else seems to notice it.

"Ready to go?" I ask Halleigh, my voice sounding very strange and different to my ears. Halleigh doesn't seem to notice.

"Yes, I'm ready." I stand by as patiently as possible while she folds up her drawing and tucks it into her pocket along with her pencil. She wriggles on her bottom across the bench seat till her feet hit the floor, and I take her hand in mine as we wind through the tables in the dining room. The sun is starting to set as I load her into the truck and it's low enough to shine in my eyes as I pull the Ford out onto the road. I try to focus on Halleigh's chattering, but I can't control my mind enough to give more than vague responses. All I can seem to focus on is one thing – Sam just asked me to marry him.

On one hand, marriage to Sam could be a good thing. Halleigh would have a daddy, she wouldn't have to spend all day in Merlotte's, and I would have the time to be a proper mother.

On the other hand, there's Eric.

My date with Eric was more than exciting, and I know I felt something more than general interest. I don't love Eric now but I could, given time. And I promised him I would wait for him. It's just another month and a week until he gets back. That's not so long, is it? What's five weeks?

Still, I don't think the question is whether I could love Eric or how marriage to Sam could benefit me and Halleigh. I think the question I need to be asking is do I love Sam? The answer? I don't know. I don't think so. That kiss in his office was certainly nice enough, and he's always been a good boss and a good friend, but I've never felt for him what I felt for Bill. Or even what I feel for Eric. Does that mean I should say no?

I sigh quietly as I turn onto Hummingbird Road.

I wish Gran were here. I ache to hug her and tell her my dilemma. She would know the right thing to do. She always knew the right thing to do.

I bring the car to the stop in the middle of the road, cutting Halleigh's conversation with herself short.

Gran's can't hug me, but there's no reason I can't visit her where she is now. She can't give advice, but maybe just being close to her will help?

I'm suddenly aware of the silence in the truck and turn to Halleigh with a smile.

"How would you like to get some flowers and visit the cemetery?"

xxx

The sun is lower in the sky when I step into the cemetery, tinting the clouds and horizon an arresting pink. I take a moment to gaze at the sky, reminding myself that the whole world isn't dingy and gray, before making my way across the lawn, skirting the stone markers, grass crunching under my feet. Halleigh's feet crunch on ahead. She knows the way now almost better than I do.

Halleigh had asked a lot of questions after Gran died, and still asks them again every few days. Why did Gran die is her favourite. When will I die is my least favourite.

Gran was buried next to her husband, my grandfather, on a day so clear and sunny it made life seem unfair. The world shouldn't have been so cheery and alive on a day when such a great woman was buried.

Having grown up in Bon Temps and living here all her life, Gran knew most of the town. And most of the town showed up to say goodbye to Gran. Young and old alike crowded through the gates of the cemetery on that gorgeous, sunny day. Some folks even came from as far away as Monroe to pay their respects to the lady I was proud to call my grandmother. Jason didn't come to the funeral. I phoned him about Gran passing, but he said he couldn't get away. Work was more important than Gran, apparently.

I walk around the oak draped in Spanish moss, the one that shades Gran's grave early in the morning, and come to a stop within it's shade next to Halleigh.

Looks like Gran already has a visitor.

Mr. Davis stands by her grave in his usual overalls, his white hair a mess. It looks as if he's been running his hands through it, and he confirms my suspicion by running a hand through it while I'm watching. He's speaking softly, atypically for him, in words too low for me to make out, and I feel like I'm witnessing something meant to be private. I clear my throat loudly to make my presence known.

"Sookie," he nearly shouts, turning from Gran's grave and crossing to the shade of the oak to pull me into a hug, and then Halleigh. I can't help but notice that his eyes are bright, as if he's been crying. I examine his face discreetly, briefly, but don't see anything in his wrinkles that would suggest such a thing. He catches me looking and gives me a smile. "How have you been doing?"

"We're okay," I say, squeezing out a little smile of my own. That's been my default answer since Gran passed. Does anyone ever want to know how you are, really? A glance at Mr. Davis's face tells me he does, and I amend my answer. "Things have been rough but we're hanging in there. How have you been?"

"You know," he says, with the smallest of smiles, "I've been doing okay." Glad someone was. "Why don't you ladies come over her with me? I'm not quite ready to go yet, but there's no reason for you to wait her turn. There is plenty room for all of us." I hesitate, but follow him toward the newly erected grave marker and stand shoulder to shoulder with him facing it. Halleigh slides her hand into mine and steps up beside us.

It feels strange to be here with Mr. Davis and I stand awkwardly, holding Gran's flowers in one hand. I want to sit down, touch the stone, throw myself to the grass and cry, something. But I can't with Mr. Davis standing right there. I just wish he's leave already.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and am surprised to see tears making their way down his face, following the deep trenches of age to his chin. I physically start in my surprise, a movement that isn't lost on the old man, and he gives a chuckle.

"I am an old man, but I'm allowed to cry. Your gran and I were to be married, after all." I look at him dumbly and he chuckles again, the pleasant chuckle, much quieter than his normal speaking voice.

"What? When?" I manage to sputter, not really sure of what to say. Mr. Davis laughs again for just a moment before he wipes his face clean of all but the sparkle in his eye.

"I asked her fifty years ago," he says calmly, sedately, turning back to the stone etched with her name – Adele Hale Stackhouse. The pink of the sunset stains his hair, making him look strange, alien, and I can't seem to take my eyes off of him. "We were young then, your Gran and I, and boy was she beautiful. She was always beautiful, mind you, but he was especially pretty the summer we courted."

My eyes are riveted to Mr. Davis. I had heard some of this from Gran, of course, but nothing was ever mentioned about a proposal or a promise to wed.

"I've heard about the time you courted. Gran always said you were her second choice, after my grandfather." He laughs at this, a full hearted, head tossed back kind of a laugh that echoes through the cemetery and is at odds with this tear stained face. I don't know why that was so funny.

"I guess you could say that," he says, quieting his laughter and pulling a worn handkerchief from the pocket of his overalls. He scrubs it over his face. "Your gran and I dated after she broke up with your granddaddy for the last time. We courted for just two months before I proposed which was quick, even in those days. It helped that we had known each other since we were kids. I remember Adele as a girl. She was always sneaking her brother's slacks out of her momma's wash and coming to play with us boys. When we wouldn't include her, she used to yell at the top of her lungs that girls were just as good as boys and could do anything boys could do. We always let her play just to hush her up." I turn my eyes toward Gran headstone with a smile. Gran hadn't much talked about her life as a child. I would have pegged her as a girly girl excited to cook and learn to sew. I would have never pictured her as a tomboy.

I turn my eyes back to Mr. Davis. He's gazing at the stone as well, lost in thoughts and memories of Gran as I never knew her. I wish I had known her then.

"What happened after you proposed?" I ask, a little surprised at myself for interrupting his thoughts. He doesn't seem surprised at all and keeps him eyes on the stone marker.

"Your father happened," he says with a grimace, just brief enough to show his dissatisfaction. "Your mother found out she was pregnant after we got engaged." I can feel my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.

"Your baby?" I ask in shock. Is Mr. Davis my grandfather?

"I wish so," he says with a rude sounding snort. "Things would have turned out so different had it been mine. It was your grandfather's. He was the father."

I feel a little sick and dizzy, and my heart aches just a bit.

"What did she marry him?" I choke out. Though my chest is tight and I feel like I've been punched in the gut, I want to know, I need to know. Halleigh fidgets beside me but stays quiet. Mr. Davis takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, as if steadying his thoughts and his mind. I try to breathe deeply myself but almost choke and suppress a cough.

For all those years I lived with Gran and for all that she knew of me, I never knew a thing about her. I always assumed she was Gran from the day she was born. I never bothered to ask if she was a tomboy when she was young or if she liked to play with dolls. I never asked why she chose to marry my grandfather or what made her choose him. And I definitely never asked if she had been engaged to another man. The woman in the ground who was such a big part of my life for most of my life was a stranger to me. She was everything to me, yet knew nearly nothing about her. Nothing that matters, at least.

"She loved me, she said," Mr. Davis says at last, a far off look in his eye as if he's reliving the moment, "More than Mitchell. But the baby inside her was your father's. She thought a child's place was with his father. So she broke off our engagement and told him about the baby. They were married two weeks later." The pain in his voice is evident and my already tender heart aches for him. I can tell that he loved her deeply just by looking into his face. And he gave up his love because of another man's child. But why didn't he fight for her? Why didn't he try to talk her out of it? Surely he would have loved that child as his own?

"Why didn't you stop her?" I ask softly, throat aching with unshed tears, desperately trying not to cry.

"I loved her," he says with a nod, "more than anything in the world. And more than anything in the world I wanted her to be happy. And if that meant letting her marry another man, so be it."

The tears stream down my face then, for the old farmer in front of me, and I brush them away as quickly as they fall. I never knew. All these years he'd been coming into Merlotte's, these last couple of years when he'd courted Gran, I had no idea he loved her so. A thought occurs to me.

"What about your wife? Surely you loved her." Mr. Davis looks away from Gran's gravestone finally, and gives me a smile.

"Of course I loved her. But it was a love I had to grow into. After Adele married Mitchell I couldn't stay in Bon Temps. It hurt to see them together. So I enlisted in the Army. It was in North Carolina that I met my Esther." A misty smile drifts onto his face. "Esther was a good girl in need of a husband. She lived at home with her daddy and six brothers and sisters and had to be mother to them all. Not to mention the things her daddy made her do. I married her the day I met her, hardly knowing her, and brought her home to Bon Temps. It wasn't love at first sight but I grew to love her."

And now both his loves are gone.

Without thinking, I take a step forward and throw my arms around Mr. Davis. He smells of dirt, the earth, and a little manure, but I want nothing more than to hold this goodhearted man, this man Gran loved.

He clears his throat self-consciously and detaches me from his neck. I give him a smile that he returns.

"Well, I'd best get going," he says after a moment of comfortable silence. "There's always more work to do." I watch as he walks silently through the cemetery on shuffling feet, following the same path Halleigh and I took through the gravestones only a short while ago. I turn back to Gran's grave as he disappears around the bend.

I had no idea.

I drop to my knees on the ground, laying the flowers in front of me, and trace her name on the stone marker. I knew her so well yet I never knew her at all.

My Gran, the one who held me when I lost my love, had lost of a love of her own, willingly, and I'd never known. I don't think she'd been unhappy with my grandfather. In fact, I knew she hadn't. Yet she'd left him. He wasn't the man she's wanted to be with. That man was Mr. Davis. That man had been in front of me all this time and I hadn't known.

But why hadn't Gran married him when she'd had the chance? It's been two years since Mrs. Davis died. Why hadn't they reconnected since then?

I knew so little about Gran during her life. I can't let Mr. Davis go without knowing this.

"Stay here, Halleigh, don't wander off," I command, springing from the ground and darting through the cemetery in the direction Mr. Davis had just gone. I have to catch him.

"Mr. Davis," I shout, wishing he wasn't so hard of hearing. "Mr. Davis!"

The cemetery has a sad, heavy feeling in the shadows of the trees, and I feel like I'm running through a depressing fog. He's almost to the road before he hears me.

"What is it?" he asks, surprise written all over his face. I guess I'd be surprised too if a woman had just chased me out of the cemetery.

"Gran," I pant, trying to catch my breath from my sprint. "Why didn't you marry her after Mrs. Davis died?" His eyes are sharp on my face for a moment before they soften. He smiles.

"Why, it was you, of course."

"Me?"

"You and that baby. Adele told me that the best time of her life was spent in that farmhouse with you and her great-grandbaby. I got down on my knee three times and asked her to marry me but she shot me down every time. She said she wouldn't trade her life for anything, even me." He laughs softly at himself.

Why would Gran do that? Why would she let the man she loved, her true love, get away for me and Halleigh?

"But . . . she loved you. Why would she have turned you down?" The smile on Mr. Davis's face grows a larger, if possible, and I can feel a smile ghost over my own face automatically.

"For the same reason she turned me down fifty years ago. Because there's someone she loves more than me."

"My grandfather?" I ask automatically, though I know that can't be the answer.

"No. You." Me? I fight to keep fresh tears at bay and I feel a strange ache in my chest. Gran gave up love for me?

"Why would she do that?" I ask, fishing a handkerchief out of my pocket. "Why would she give up the man she loves for me?"

"Don't you get it?" he asks, and I shake my head. "She loved me, sure, more than any other man. But her true love was her children. Your father, you, Halleigh. She would have married me but that was nothing like what she would have done for you. She would have walked the world for your happiness. As long as you were happy, she was happy, even if that meant telling me no again and again."

I lose my fight with the tears and they fall unchecked as I gaze through the dimness at Mr. Davis.

Gran had loved my father so much before he was born that she gave up the man she loved, the man she was to marry, to marry the man that belonged with her son. She loved me so much, and Halleigh, that she was willing to wait forever to be with the man she'd loved for over fifty years if it meant another day, another week, in the farmhouse with us.

Don't I love Halleigh the same way? Wouldn't I walk to the ends of the earth for her happiness?

Of course I would.

Gran may be gone, but she still gave me my answer. I just wonder why it was so hard to make a decision in the first place.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, leaning over to brush my lips across his gnarled old cheek. Mr. Davis seems to know what I mean and just smiles before sliding into his truck. I turn my back to him as walk back through the cemetery. Back to Gran and back to the child I love more than life itself.

Halleigh was a surprise, and she definitely makes life hard at times, but she is my child, my daughter, and I would do anything for her. I would walk to the ends of the earth if it would ensure her happiness. I would gladly give my life if it meant hers would be spared. I would eat a little less and go a little hungry to make sure she is well fed. And I would marry a man that is not yet the love of my life if it means she'll grow up outside of a dining room.

And I'll be happy to do it. I would be glad to do any of those things. Because she's my daughter and my true love. Because to me she is worth more than anything.

The pink horizon acts as a backlight, turning everything in front of it into a shadowy blackness. I find shadow Halleigh kneeling at Gran's shadow grave where I had sat just a moment ago. Her tiny fingers trace her Gran's name, etched deep into the stone.

I can't help but wonder if she'll remember Gran as she grows, and remember those lazy, love-filled days with her in the farmhouse. I wonder if she'll remember helping with the chicken, Gran's quiet prayers before mealtime, and gathering the eggs. I wonder if she'll remember where she learned to make paper dolls, who encouraged her play in the dirt, and who didn't mind if she messed up the pie crust. I wonder if she'll remember the woman who always had a kind word and a warm smile and who considered her time with us the best of her life.

I wonder if she'll grow up to be a woman like her Gran. I wonder if there will ever be another woman like her Gran.

I hope so. I truly, truly do.

"Ready to go home, baby?" I ask with a gentle smile, turning myself into a shadow to bring her into focus.

"I'm ready," she says, scrambling to her feet. She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket, the picture she had drawn in Merlotte's, and sets it on Grans grave alongside the flowers. I'm curious about the picture and why she's leaving it for Gran, but don't ask. If she'd wanted me to see she would have shown me.

She slides her hand into mine and we stop for one last look at Gran's headstone, dark against the pink sky.

We turn together from her grave, two shadows against the sunset, and together we head for home.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading.<em>


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